Addicted: Struck by The Vipers Venom
by Brokenspell77
Summary: Randy Orton is frustrated with his current standing in the WWE and he's had enough. He's resentful, envious, jealous and angry. And an angry Viper is a dangerous Viper. Orton decides to target the one man that sits at the top of the WWE food chain, the WWE champion CM Punk! His plan? To get the Straight Edge Superstar to face a deadly addiction! WARNING: Explicit slash/swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. This is the start of a new multichaptered Punkton story. I was hoping to get rolling on this a lot sooner than I did, but to be honest I was stuck in the Volatile headspace for a while. And this story is so different, and a darker story than Volatile and basically what I kept writing was complete rubbish and didn't fit the story lol. Anyway, I finally sorted myself out and here is the start. Fingers crossed you enjoy it even though it's different to Volatile. I'm kinda anxious about it to be honest!**

**Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride :)**

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Randy threw his wrestling boots to the floor one after the other not giving a damn where they landed. He was tired of this bullshit! For far too long he had been dumped on the back burner when it came to the WWE. He had become an after thought. He had meaningless feud after meaningless feud for the past year. He had no captivating storylines. No development. And now he seemed to be putting over every talent in the company on a weekly basis just because getting a win over Randy Orton was an accomplishment and turned younger wrestlers into stars.

Or that was the way it was pitched to him by the powers that be anyway. He was fine with helping the younger generation to a point, but now it bordered on excessive. An endless wheel of talent had gotten a three count over him lately.

Dolph Ziggler. Wade Barrett. Antonio Cesaro. Alberto Del Rio. Hell, he was even putting over the older guys that were in the WWE way before him. Washed up has-beens like Big Show, Kane and Mark Henry had accrued victories over the Apex Predator! Meanwhile, he had garnered no major wins over another top tier talent in months and he harboured a real fear of slipping down the competitive WWE totem pole even further.

What was next?

Losing to Heath Slater? Zack Ryder? Tensai?

For godsake he is Randy 'fuckin' Orton and he deserved more respect! He's twice the Superstar that every other man in the locker room is. His talent dwarfed the rest of the roster. Even the guys that the WWE treat as the main eventers.

John Cena is nothing but a walking cartoon that the majority of the crowd loathed, yet he was pushed to the moon despite the fact he lacked any sort of wrestling psychology in the squared circle. Seriously the man was completely inept.

Then there was Sheamus. Another man stealing his spotlight. Randy couldn't argue that Sheamus had skills in the squared circle, but he hardly had that magnitude and charisma that drew people in. Plain and simply Sheamus was a bore.

Ryback was a behemoth no doubt. His strength unquestionable. But that was all the man possessed. He was just a muscle head, nothing more. He had no other attributes whatsoever, yet he was pushed to the top of the card by the man in charge.

And then there was _**him**_**. **

The man that Randy despised beyond all others.

How could a scrawny ass fucker like CM Punk be the face of the company right now over him? Punk looked like a homeless meth head who had wandered in off the streets. Admittedly the Chicagoan's body wasn't exactly without muscle mass, but he was hardly built like an adonis like himself.

Deep down Randy knew he was idolised by fans and fellow Superstars alike. He was the blue print on which a Superstar is built on. Every other Superstar in the locker room wished they had even a modicum of his talent and looks.

He was the whole package. Cena knew it. Punk knew it. Vince Mcmahon knew it. And Randy Orton knew it.

Screw CM Punk, Randy Orton is the true and unquestionable Best in the World!

Randy Orton never had a lack of self confidence. He knew the skill he possessed in the ring. It was effortless, like poetry in motion when he stepped between those ropes and yet he found himself on the outside looking in when it came to the title picture all year.

In fact it had been over a year since he last held a top tier championship. He believed the end of his last World Heavyweight championship reign was the cause of his downward spiral. He had dropped the belt to Mark Henry, and in the process of doing so he made the useless Worlds Strongest Man actually look like a monster and a true champion that fans could believe in.

In hindsight that was a fatal mistake.

It seemed if Randy could make a man like Henry; who had been nothing but a midcarder for his entire decade plus run in the company, look remarkable then he could make anyone and everyone into a star.

Randy honestly believed that was the mindset of Vince Mcmahon and his idiot underlings. So, week in and week out his shoulders were being pinned to the mat for a three count and the Vipers control on his anger was starting to fray.

Randy conceded that it probably didn't help his cause that Mr. Mcmahon had never been his biggest fan. Unlike Cena, The Rock and others Randy Orton wasn't a 'yes man'. He didn't ask 'How high?' when Vince told him to jump. He wasn't an ass-kisser. Orton was outspoken and hard headed and it had landed him in hot water and out in the dog house on more than one occasion during the course of his career.

Randy snarled as his fists balled up on either side of him. Things needed to change. And if Vince Mcmahon wasn't going to do it on his own volition, then Randy would have to take matters into his own hands.

Randy wouldn't sit on the sidelines anymore. For way too long his waist had been missing championship gold. Truth be told he couldn't even remember the last time he challenged for the title. He couldn't remember the last time he main evented a pay per view either. All this pent up frustration was coursing through his veins, and it seemed sooner rather than later it would explode out of him and cause chaos and ruin.

And unfortunately for a certain Straight Edge Superstar it would result in a swift and sudden crash landing. CM Punk unknowingly had a target on his back. The Viper was primed and ready to strike. And he was intent on striking with a bullseye. Randy maliciously smirked as he knew that the fastest way to ascend to the mountain top was to take out the man that currently sat atop the precipice.

Randy's cold stare zeroed in on the man that had drawn his ire as Punk appeared in the locker room with the WWE championship draped over his shoulder. Punk was sweating profusely, just returning from a near thirty minute match with Daniel Bryan that had finished the show that night. Already agents and other Superstars were raving about the bout, but all that did was make the anger boil even hotter inside the pressure cooker.

Randy's eyes settled on the prize that would soon be his. He would make sure of it. The WWE championship glimmered and twinkled, the lights overheard making the gold sparkle and shimmer even brighter. It was calling out to him. Pleading and begging for a true champion to hold it. For too long that title had been in the hands of that poor excuse of a Superstar, but never fear it would soon be around the glorious waist of Randy Orton once again.

Randy was chomping at the bit to put his plan into action. But a question remained; How was the best way to bring down CM Punk?

Injuring the man would be too obvious. Punk would immediately want revenge the second he was healthy again. Not to mention if he took out Vince's latest flavour of the month he suspected he would be reprimanded and slide even further down the ladder instead of climbing it. That would be essentially taking one step forward and two steps back.

No, he had to be smart. He had to be cunning. He had to be sly. He had to be a snake in the grass.

Basically the bottom line was Randy deserved better. And he would make sure that he would receive the treatment he thought was becoming of a Superstar of his stature. And with no remorse or regret he would acquire it by any means necessary.

Randy and Punk had never seen eye to eye. They were polar opposites. Two magnets that just repelled one another. They would never get along. They would never be friends. A fact that hadn't alluded Orton. He didn't give a damn about that, he didn't want to be friends, having friends in this business was a weakness. That's why he had so few. And at the bottom of the list of who he would ever want to be friendly with was that piece of shit CM Punk.

But the question still remained: How to bring CM Punk down?

Randy watched with hooded eyes as he saw Punk stand up from the bench that he had previously been sat on. Randy took note of the black ink that came into view and the words inscribed onto the skin on Punk's stomach.

_**'Straight Edge.'**_

A sinister smirk played over Randy's features. A plot formed in his mind.

How satisfying would it be to sabotage Punk's historic long running title reign, his career and his chosen lifestyle in one fell swoop?

Randy had to restrain a maniacal laugh as his eyes bored into the back of Punk's skull. Punk should be thankful that looks don't kill, because the devious and blackhearted glare in Randy's eyes would most certainly be life threatening.

The Voice of the Voiceless was oblivious to the chaos that was about to impact his life and Randy was delighted at the notion. Destruction was coming the champions way, it was only a matter of time until Randy Orton was back to his rightful place at the top of the mountain.

An evil glint danced upon the ice that was Randy's eyes. Punk may have dressed up as the devil in a promotional skit, but Randy Orton was its latest living and breathing incarnation. A demon resided inside, his soul was black and he was about to prove that this Viper had a lot of venom to poison his prey with.

Punk often spoke about his straight edge lifestyle; or preached as Randy needled him one time too many which had led to more than one colossal showdown in the past, and what better way would there be to ruin Punk's life than destroying the very foundation of what his existence was constructed upon.

Randy would be everywhere. Every time Punk turned around he would be there. Watching. Studying. Enticing. He would set up permanent residence in Punk's mind. Temptation was a weapon that Orton would harness and brandish.

Before Punk would even be aware of the slippery slope he was on he would be too far gone for rescue. He would be tearing his hair out from the roots to get just one more fix! He would be a pitiful, disgusting, filthy addict.

But no, no, no, it wouldn't be alcohol. It wouldn't be cocaine. It wouldn't be crystal meth.

That would be way too easy for Punk to refuse. The Viper knew just how strong minded Punk was. Punk would never fall into the tangled web of drugs and alcohol. Randy would have to be smart. He would have to be cunning. He would have to be methodical. He would have to be subtle...at first until he was permanently lodged inside the cranium of the Second City Saint.

What Randy had in mind was twisted. It was deranged. It was fucked up. But the Apex Predator revelled in that environment. He thrived off of it. The demon had returned from the underworld and he had located his victim. Soon he would be dragged into the fiery pit of hell.

Sooner or later Punk would succumb. He would be a strung out junkie craving for more and more and then Randy Orton will replace CM Punk as the WWE champion. And the face of the company. And he will take his rightful spot as _the_ man in the WWE.

Time is ticking down. Randy was prepared for the onslaught he was about to unleash. Ready for the battles. Ready for the war. And he knew Punk wouldn't be. That is what made it even sweeter.

_**Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.**_

CM Punk is about to become addicted to..._Randy Orton!_

...

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**Good? Bad? Crap? Should I go into hiding it's that awful? I know not much happened, but this was pretty much an introduction to set the tone of the story. Hopefully you do like it and will enjoy the rest. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, thank you for the reviews, favourites and follows. I didn't think I'd get as many as I did after only one chapter. I've got all my fingers and toes crossed that you continue to enjoy this story :)**

**BTW I apologise for the gap between the first and second chapters. I got crazy busy the last couple of weeks, but I hope to have chapter 3 up a lot quicker than I did this one. **

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The sheer ferocity of The Apex Predators rage had swelled. It had built into a swirling mass and it was only a matter of time before it exploded from his core. The reason for his rage increasing? CM Punk.

It wasn't enough that CM Punk was the WWE champion, he was now the winner of the Superstar of the Year Slammy award as well?

Randy was fuming. He was a nominee, why the hell wasn't he crowned the standout Superstar of that year? His talent was undeniable. His skill unmatched. CM Punk simply isn't in the Apex Predators league. Yet it was that idiot that had a Slammy in his possession.

It was just another reason to add to the list of why he wanted, and needed to bring CM Punk down. More fuel to the out of control fire that consumed him. The flames were crackling in his ears and were primed to singe and burn.

Punk wandered back into the locker room, the title and a Slammy in each hand. The man had a beaming smile on his face, he was actually happy. It had been a great year in his career. Probably the best. A career defining era without a doubt.

He was unquestionably the top dog in the company. Even outdoing John Cena despite Vince Mcmahon throwing road block after road block in front of him. Punk knew the boss was not a fan. After all, he wasn't a muscle head with no brain wave activity which was what Vince got all hard over. Really he encapsulated everything that Vinnie Mac and the company as a whole turned their nose up at.

He was the reverse of the mould Vince adored. He wasn't a super heavyweight by any stretch of the imagination. Instead he was a two hundred and twenty pound smart-ass loud mouth indy darling who the fans had latched onto and collectively they had pressured and pushed Vince Mcmahon into treating CM Punk like the true Superstar he was always meant to be.

This had been his marquee year. He had main evented pay per view month in and month out. His merchandise sales were through the roof, eclipsing every other Superstars. He had won multiple Slammy's that night that were voted on by the WWE universe. And of course he was still in the midst of an historic title reign that had so far passed a year in length. It was the longest reign in the modern era. No one in the last twenty five years had held the prestigious WWE championship longer than he. Punk was on top of the world and nothing and no one was going to knock him down.

However, from across the locker room his smile was being misconstrued by a raging and coiled Viper. And that snakes main goal was to not only bring Punk down, but destroy him completely whilst doing so. Randy's temper flared, he was trembling with fury as all he saw before him was a smug, egotistical grin on Punk's face.

_'Punk thinks he's better than me?_'

It was laughable. In Orton's disturbed mind CM Punk's popularity would be nothing but a phase. It would fizzle out in a few months time. The adulation, the chants, the merchandise sales, it would all dry up. Randy knew it, and he was rarely wrong. He knew it would fall to pieces, because he would be giving it a helping hand.

A sinister thought then sounded in his head of how he couldn't wait to wipe the smug grin off Punk's face. The Second City Saint was doing nothing more than keeping the title warm until the real star wore the gold.

Randy knew what he needed to do. The only question mark was whether he could actually weaken Punk enough to drive him into a state of addiction. To live with a straight edge code for so many years would make Punk a hard nut to crack. Punk was always in control. In fact he kept an iron tight grip on his control. It would take more than simply forcing an addiction upon him.

Randy's plan called for Punk to become addicted to him, yet there was one rather large flaw in that idea. CM Punk wasn't interested in men. In fact he had by all accounts had his fair share of relationships with women in the industry that they worked in.

So, how could Randy get the Straight Edge Superstar of all people into bed and show the man the true murky depths in which you can sink and wallow in when you face an all consuming addiction?

Randy too was alien to sexual encounters with members of the same sex. He wasn't even sure of how to go about this. He assumed the mechanics were basically the same. He had reasoned his own plan seemed to be crazy and full of holes that would lead to its collapse before it even got off the ground. But the red mist of spiteful anger and revenge that clouded his judgement brought forth no other option.

The voices in his head had twisted and contorted his mind over the past year and all the Viper wanted was malicious revenge on Punk that was born in nothing more than jealousy and envy.

Envy...A deadly sin that was for sure.

Punk probably didn't deserve the full force of Orton's wrath, he sure as hell didn't deserve the disturbing mind games the man was about to play on him, but nevertheless a reckless unforgiving storm was heading his way intent on destruction and there was no escape from it.

Randy realised he would have to slowly insert himself into Punk's life. He couldn't all of a sudden act friendly, Punk would be suspicious immediately. He had to be cunning. Almost interject himself obviously into Punk's life but from afar. Almost as a mystery. Raise Punk's curiosity. Cause mass confusion in that little head.

He would wear Punk down bit by bit.

By any means necessary.

Even if that meant having sexual contact with another man, despite that being the very last thing Randy Orton ever thought he would do in all of his life. No doubt he was a ladies man through and through, any thoughts of having intimate relations with another man had never been entertained, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And apparently in his fragile state of mind there was no depths that he wouldn't sink to resurrect his own career whilst simultaneously killing off Punk's.

Randy was so lost in his own thoughts and desperation to come up with a full proof plan on how to destroy Punk, he never noticed the Second City Saint staring right back at him. Punk's brows were furrowed together in confusion, wondering why the hell the Viper was staring darkly in his direction.

Once aware Randy refused to break the eye contact. A silent battle ensued. He wouldn't back down. His eyes turned more stern, the glare never faltering.

_**Game on.**_

Punk still had a questioning look marring his features at Randy's odd behaviour. The Apex Predator didn't look pleased, and by Orton's look in his direction it seemed the man wasn't happy with him. Punk's mind raced back through recent memories to identify a moment where he may have rubbed Randy up the wrong way, but nothing stood out.

In fact Randy and he had barely seen one another in weeks. The contact they had was minimal. Just a few polite 'Hello's' were all that had been exchanged in weeks. There was no need for anything extra; they weren't friends in the slightest.

That was by design.

Nevertheless Punk grew tired of Orton's daggers being thrown his way. He looked away from the Viper and sat his WWE Championship and Slammy down on the bench next to his luggage.

Randy's lips curled a fraction as he saw Punk turn from him breaking their intense stare. The battle had been won. Punk may have not understood the parameters of the battle, but Randy did. And if it was that easy to break Punk with a simple exchange like that then surely he could get the Straight Edge Superstar addicted to him without too much hassle.

Randy was then shocked to see a heavily tattooed figure approach. Punk stood tall in front of him. Randy raised his head and looked up at Punk. He stood from the bench, with his superior height he looked down with an almost patronising arrogance.

'Is there a problem?' Punk questioned, never one to beat around the bush.

Randy remained silent. But his eyes locked onto Punk's and again another muted battle commenced.

'Are you deaf? Why the hell do you keep staring at me? You got a problem?' Punk asked, his short fuse already sparking.

Randy remained mute. He just tilted his head with his eyes fixated on Punk's. Randy took note that Punk's eyes were a shade of green. He hadn't noticed that before...

Punk gritted his teeth, his annoyance bubbling to the surface. 'Okay, you're really starting to piss me off!'

Randy's lips curled into a smirk. He got under Punk's skin with minimal effort. All the signs pointed to the fact that his end game would not be hard to accomplish. Punk was out of his depth. He was playing with the big boys now. Randy played for glory. And he played dangerous.

Punk narrowed his gaze, almost scrutinising Randy. He tried to gauge his reaction for any indication for a reason behind his infuriating behaviour. Punk quickly realised trying to delve into Randy Orton's state of mind would be futile. The man was a loose canon. A complete head case. He would fly off the handle at the slightest thing.

Or at least he used to.

Ever since he had attended anger management many years back the Viper had seem to calm considerably, but Punk wasn't a fool. He knew that volatile man still resided in Randy Orton deep down. For now he was just dormant, like a volcano he still harboured all that molten lava and fire!

A smirk mirrored itself on Punk's features as he toyed with the idea of testing his theory. They always say never prod a snake with a stick, but since when did CM Punk ever listen to anybody?

Punk took a step closer to Randy and shook his head. 'I get it. The whole staring, silent treatment is because you're angry, right?' Randy didn't move or say a thing. 'You're jealous aren't you, Randal?' Punk smiled as he saw the Vipers nostrils flare and his eyes cloud to a shade of grey.

CM Punk had awoke the snake.

'You see me with the championship, with Slammies, carrying this company on my back and you are filled with jealousy. I mean, it must be hard, after all the sky is the limit for me. Where as Randy Orton is a shell of a man that he used to be. You're slipping further and further down the card, putting over people left, right and centre. I imagine it must be a bitter pill to swallow.'

Randy's fists clenched by his side and he snapped his head away from Punk. _Fuck!_ Punk won a battle! Punk always had an uncanny way to irritate him and kick him right where it hurts. He was one of few that truly got under his skin and Punk had hit the nail square on the head.

Was Randy really that obvious with his jealousy and envy?

Randy knew that his plan was fraying at the seams due to him giving Punk control, he quickly snapped his head back around. 'My problem is that you got everything handed to you when you don't deserve a damn thing!' He hissed.

'You think I got handed all this?' Punk asked, as he gestured to his title and Slammy across the other side of the room. 'I worked my ass off for it all!'

'Yeah, of course you did, Punk. Please, you're Vince's new golden boy and it makes me want to hurl!' Randy spat out with bile.

Punk guffawed at that statement. Was Randy practising a comedy routine? That had to be a joke. Vince Mcmahon loathed CM Punk. Every accolade Punk garnered was begrudgingly allowed by Mcmahon. Punk scratched and clawed his way to the top. Everything he had accomplished he had one hundred percent earned.

'Are you kidding me? Vince can't stand me. He was practically forced into giving me the ball to run with by the fans. They got behind me, they made Vince take notice of me. They made him give me this title and make me the face of this company. And I can assure you he has hated every single second of it. We all know who's the golden boy and it sure as shit isn't me!' Punk had gradually got louder and more animated during his tirade, his anger increasing further with every word.

How the fuck can anyone think for a second that Vince Mcmahon thought of Punk with any type of high regard?

'Oh, that's easy to say when you're on top of the world.'

Randy knew he sounded bitter and he knew Punk could read him like a book. He wasn't hiding his emotions well in the slightest. His plan so far had been a bust. So much for being sly and cunning. Fucking Punk always had to push his buttons and bring out his anger. That had been his downfall and he needed to reign it in and regain control in an instant.

Punk chuckled and shook his head at Randy. 'You know what? I don't give a shit what you think. I know I busted my ass for all of this. And I did it while flipping off Vince along the way. So, you can throw your hissy fit, but we both know why you are.'

Punk grinned, pleased with his barbs and quick witted exchange and he turned from Orton to return to his belongings, awards and championship title.

'Fuck you, Punk!' Randy bellowed. Instantly he knew he was destroying his plan more and more.

_**Control.**_

He needed to control and squash his anger. Yet, it was so hard to wrestle that control back with the bait that Punk kept on placing in front of him.

Punk instantly spun back around and marched right back up to Randy. 'You're pathetic, Randal. Face facts you're not in my league. Really all you're good for is being a stepping stone. So, enjoy putting people like Big Show and Mark Henry over, okay? Trust me you're not going to get back to the level you used to be at. Your time is over. Deal with it.'

Randy's eyes turned from a clouded grey to a storm induced black as his rage intensified. 'I would be careful if I was you, Punk.'

'Is that a threat?'

Randy almost snarled at the smaller man. 'No. It's a promise.'

Punk honestly wasn't sure whether he should take that seriously. He knew of Orton's explosive temper. Randy and he had engaged in multiple arguments and scuffles over the years, but the anger inside the Viper had been tamed. Punk wondered if he had made a big mistake poking the snake, because it seemed that dormant side of Randy was now alive and kicking. The volcano was slowly erupting.

Punk shrugged the thoughts away and put on his game face. 'A threat from Randy Orton? It doesn't have quite the same bite as it used to. You're no longer important. You're no longer relevant. Your glory days are done. And if you fuck with me, you'll be done all together.'

Punk turned and left the venomous snake in a shocked silence. Punk knew he had pressed Randy's buttons and ignited the fury caged inside. But Punk wouldn't back down. He never had. He never would. Even if it was to his own detriment. Even if it led to his own demise.

Punk wondered if anything would arise from the explosive confrontation. While Punk deliberated on that, Randy already had the answer to that question.

_**YES!**_

Randy chastised himself silently knowing he had been defeated by the Second City Saint in that exchange. Punk had got the last word in their verbal sparring. But Randy crushed the disappointment, after all talking was Punk's element. A war of words was Punk's domain. His voice and words were his weapons.

Randy had fallen into that trap for the very last time.

From now on he would follow the plan to a tee. No veering off track. He couldn't let Punk antagonise him and Randy couldn't be dictated too by his volatile rage. It was time to crawl inside Punk's head. The mind games were about to start.

This was far from over.

...

Punk laughed and playfully shoved Kofi as a group of WWE superstars had invaded a local bar after Raw. The place was jam packed to the rafters and many civilians had approached the wrestlers for photos and autographs and all had been happy to oblige.

Frantic, blinking lights lit up the spacious room in many colours as the music blared loudly causing vibrations to tremble through chests cavities. A dull hum of voices could be heard, but mainly got drowned out by the bass and sheer volume of the music being played.

Unbeknownst to everyone else in the place; including CM Punk, in a dark corner lurked a certain Apex Predator. Hiding in the shadows alone he watched as Punk, Kofi Kingston, Dolph Ziggler, Chris Jericho, AJ Lee, Daniel Bryan, Layla, and Kaitlyn enjoyed some down time.

Randy meanwhile, was certainly not relaxed like his colleagues. He was uptight. His muscles all rigid as his anger was still flowing from every pore at his earlier confrontation with Punk. However he had managed to swallow the fire and regain some semblance of control, and he was there for the soul purpose of putting his plan into motion.

Admittedly his plan still had flaws and he wasn't exactly sure what direction was best to take, but he knew he had to start playing with Punk's mind right now. And to do that he needed to be seen. He wanted Punk to always be on guard. Always wondering if he was watching. Always suspecting that he was lurking just around the next corner. He wanted Punk rattled.

Phase one had begun.

Randy eyes fired out across the crowds to see Punk and AJ laughing as they stood at the bar. Soon the Second City Saint would have nothing to laugh about Orton thought with evil intentions.

Punk then conversed with the bar man, Randy assumed ordering the drinks. Then Punk turned and looked out across the dance floor. AJ's attention was stolen by her fellow divas as Kaitlyn and Layla started talking with the petite woman.

Randy took his opportunity. He didn't want to be seen by anyone other than Punk. He had one single solitary target. He needed to be inconspicuous. He emerged from the shadows and leaned against a large stone pillar that stretched upward all the way to the ceiling. He watched Punk's eyes crossing the room. They were surveying inching closer and closer. They glided over the sea of people and swept right past The Viper.

For a second Randy thought Punk had missed him, but the WWE champion did a quick double take and found Randy in the bustling crowd like a homing device.

Immediately Punk's relaxed nature turned stern and his eyes bored into Randy. Clearly their earlier confrontation still had the Voice of the Voiceless riled up.

Randy smirked deviously over at Punk. He could almost hear Punk's thoughts in his own head!

_How long has he been here? Has he been watching me the whole time? Has he been following me?_

Randy's smirk only grew as he believed he saw a hint of fear cross Punk's features. Randy ran his tongue along his bottom lip and tilted his head. He looked like a maniac, and he knew that the plan he had come up with was one where he would reap the benefits.

It was just a matter of time.

Randy suddenly returned from his self and premature celebration as he saw Punk sliding through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. Punk was gunning for him!

Randy instantly immersed himself in the masses of people. He pleaded for all of them to remain ignorant as to who he was so he could evade the Straight Edge Superstar. He didn't want to converse with Punk. He didn't need to get caught up in another verbal exchange. He needed to be sly. Cunning. He needed to exude a hint of mystery.

As he finally saw the exit he heard Punk's voice shout out. 'Hey!'

The Second City Saint was catching up with him. Randy accelerated as he headed through the exit and the chill of the night air greeted him.

Punk could see Orton stride hurriedly through the exit and he was hot on his heels. If Randy wanted to be verbally berated twice in one day than Punk was more than up for the challenge.

Earlier Randy Orton was acting like a complete tool box, but after what seemed like a threat in the locker room and now his sudden appearance tonight Punk couldn't deny that The Apex Predator had him concerned. It was creepy how Randy materialised out of nowhere and was watching him.

_How did he know where I was? Did he follow me from the hotel? _

The mere notion of that unnerved Punk. Not that he would ever admit it. Least of all to Orton. He emerged into the cool night air and looked left and right frantically to find the Viper. He scanned over a few groups of people that lined the street, but Orton was nowhere to be found. He had vanished into thin air.

'What the fuck?!' Punk mumbled.

He darted his eyes around the vicinity looking for Orton again, but the Viper was eerily absent. Orton certainly carried an air of mystery. Punk felt a chill run through him, a chill that he passed off as the cool night air, but in reality it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the calculating Viper.

_Where the hell did he go?_

Punk shook the thought from his mind. He wouldn't allow Orton to get in his head. His threat was meaningless. It was empty. Randy may talk a big game, but that was all it was; Talk.

Punk wouldn't be defeated by the Apex Predator.

Punk looked around the surrounding area one more time, but there was no Orton in sight. Punk wasn't going to let the man ruin his night. He was just going to forget that ass-hole even existed. Punk reaffirmed the need to forget about Orton within his own mind and turned back around and returned to the bar and his friends.

From the shadows of an alley across the street from the club Randy watched as Punk disappeared back into the building he had just been chased out of. He chuckled knowing that it had started. No matter how hard Punk tried the Viper would be living in his head rent free from now on.

And this was only the beginning.

More was to come.

Randy's confidence swelled. He believed his plan would reap success. Now he needed to forge ahead. He needed to turn up the heat.

He had inflicted his first dose. The Viper had poisoned his prey. The venom would eventually take hold.

_**Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.**_

...

* * *

**OH NO! Randy has started the mind games? How far will he go to get what he wants? What will he do? Will Punk fall into his trap?! **

**I feel that sounds like a promo for a tv series lol. It makes me think I should say 'Find out on the next exciting episode of Addicted' LOL. Anyways, hope you liked it :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much for the reviews, faves and follows. I didn't think I'd have as many as I have after only 2 chapters! Thank you!**

**I have to say though if updates end up coming a little slower for the next month or so don't blame me...blame the tennis. I'm a tennis nut and we've got the French Open, Queens and Wimbledon going on! I will be glued to the tv cheering on the love of my life lol. COME ON NOVAK!**

**I will try my hardest to update as soon as I can though, I promise :)**

* * *

It hadn't gone by unnoticed. Those intense penetrating eyes followed him with every movement. It was becoming unsettling. It made him feel incredibly self conscious and on edge.

Was Orton trying to drive him insane?

Punk glanced over at the ever watchful Viper and as he had been doing since Punk had arrived at the arena his eyes were fixed upon The Voice of the Voiceless. Punk tore his gaze away in a flash and could feel his irritation intensify.

He was getting thoroughly pissed off with Randy Orton's actions. Ever since that night in the club when Punk spotted Randy watching him from afar Punk had been extra vigilant in his surroundings. He kept on looking back over his shoulder almost expecting to find Orton stalking close behind.

Punk knew Randy wasn't the most pleasant of his colleagues, he had a history of being a tool box and Punk had been on the receiving end of Orton's wrath on more than one occasion. But this time there was no expected explosion from the Viper.

Instead he was acting coy. Calculating. As if he was building up to something bigger. It made Punk actually feel dread in the pit of his stomach.

It was fear of the unknown.

Punk stood from the bench he was sat on in catering and walked toward the food table. He could feel Orton's eyes tracing every single step. Two eyes boring into the back of his skull. Once he reached the table with a large array of food gathered on it, he tried to put Randy Orton out of his mind. But as he filled his plate he could still feel those ice cold eyes watching and they sent a chill down his spine.

Punk slammed his plate down and glared menacingly straight at the Apex Predator. He wouldn't stand for this! Their eyes collided and for a long time neither man backed down. Punk knew that many sets of eyes were watching the exchange between the Viper and himself, he knew they were all expecting a violent showdown. Orton and he were two of the most temperamental superstars in the company, having a fist fight was practically a certainty.

With every ounce of fibre in his being Punk wanted to run over there and tackle Orton to the ground and pulverise him. Twist his body into a pretzel as he beat him black and blue. But from somewhere deep down Punk found a small drop of defiance. He wouldn't do this where everyone could see. Where word would get back to Vince in a matter of seconds. He could certainly do without a lecture from the boss. Not to mention he knew the blame would be put squarely on him. I mean what defence did he have? If he said Orton was practically stalking him he would be laughed at. He knew that would be the case, so there was no point in actually reporting the crazed Viper to the higher ups.

Eventually Punk broke the contact and made a bee line for the exit. He stormed out of the room slamming the heavy door shut behind him. He knew Orton would be following his footsteps however.

Lately he always did.

Sure enough and right on cue he heard the door open mere seconds later and Orton emerged following Punk down the corridor. As Punk meandered his way through production people and crew members he eventually found himself down a deserted corridor. Away from prying eyes. Instantly he turned and shoved Randy hard against the nearest wall.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?' Punk snapped as Orton's body made a thud against the unforgiving brick work. 'Stop fucking following me. And stop watching me!'

Randy smirked, loving the rage he could see in Punk's eyes. Orton took sheer delight in it as he saw it mix with the confusion in those tired green orbs. His plan was working. He had the WWE champion worked up and he had him befuddled. He casually rested back against the stone wall that Punk had previously pushed him into whilst keeping eye contact with the Second City Saint.

'Why are you acting like a fucking psycho?' Punk shouted, the smug smirk on Orton's face making Punk not care at all if anyone overheard anymore. It wasn't like he had anything to hide or be embarrassed about. Let everyone hear and learn just how batshit crazy Randy Orton truly could be. 'You're practically stalking me, Randal.'

Randy remained silent like he always did. His sinister stare was also present. It almost made Punk want to recoil and run for the hills, but the stubborn man stood his ground.

'Are you just going to stand there? Answer me, you douchebag!' Punk yelled, adding another shove for effect. He wanted to be clear that he wasn't going to allow this shit to continue for any longer.

Randy chuckled. With his low rumbling voice it almost sounded like a demon growling and again Punk fought the urge to escape. Before Punk could fire more abuse in the snakes direction Randy lurched off the wall in a flash and pressed his body against Punk's as he backed him up against the parallel wall.

Being in such close proximity Punk could hear Orton's breath loud and clear. Punk could feel the heat radiating off Orton's body. Punk could smell the scent of Randy Orton infiltrating his senses.

The Viper tilted his head, his eyes falling onto Punk's. Waiting. And waiting. Until finally Punk met his gaze. Randy sultrily licked his lips and bit on his bottom lip as his gaze ran the entire length of Punk's body.

Punk almost tried to hide and shield his body away from the Vipers greedy glare, but there was no way for him to do so. His brows furrowed in confusion at Randy's actions. There was no reason for it. No reason for that look.

Randy then stepped away, and Punk breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for the distance. Relief was short lived though. As Randy moved away and back down the corridor he ran his palm from left to right delicately over Punk's clothed abdomen. He shot Punk one final look over his shoulder as he walked off at a pace back toward catering with a pleased grin on his features.

Punk meanwhile was left utterly dismayed, flustered and dumbfounded.

_What the hell was that? What game was Randy Orton playing?_

...

Randy looked down the corridors adjacent and seeing them barren he entered into the private locker room. However, it wasn't his own that he had gone into. The locker room he now occupied was none other than CM Punk's.

Randy knew that Punk wouldn't be back for a while as he was currently entertaining the sold out crowd for Raw that night with what Punk laughably called 'wrestling.'

He looked around the room, noticing Punk's belongings strewn messily about the place. He heard the faint sound of noise coming from the television in the corner and Randy went over to the set and saw Raw playing on the screen.

Randy eyes got momentarily distracted by the match between Punk and The Miz. Randy rolled his eyes as he silently conceded that Punk was indeed talented within the squared circle as he hit his patented knee to the face and bulldog combination. But not in any way shape or form was the Second City Saint deserving of his current standing in the company. Only one man was. And that man was Randy Orton.

The plan to bring down Punk and for Randy Orton to ascend was in full swing and so far Orton was content with its steady progression, but now it was time to turn the heat up even further and hurry things along.

Patience had never been his forte.

Randy leant onto a nearby table and placed the small piece of paper he brought with him on the furniture. He picked up a pen and began to scribble.

His mind wandered as he wrote the note. His head often found itself in the same territory of late. That being his ultimate destruction of Punk. More precisely the means in which would be Punk's downfall.

Getting Punk addicted to anything would be the ultimate challenge. But getting a straight edge straight man to be fiending for sex with another male was far fetched to say the very least. Yet Randy hadn't even entertained the idea of throwing in the towel and taking a more direct approach like injuring CM Punk.

He would make it work.

After all, not many could resist his charms. Randy and his ego knew that women and men alike would throw themselves at his feet just for a sample of what he had to offer sexually and even Punk would find it difficult to resist after the mind games that he would continue to inflict upon the poor bastard.

All the games Randy forced Punk into would weaken the mans resolve, it would set off confusion in Punk's head, make him question and doubt what he wanted. What he needed. Then once Punk was primed and at his lowest ebb Orton would pounce and victory would be his.

And with victory came money. The WWE championship. The face of the company. All of it would be his.

All of what he stood to gain was worth his pursuit of another man. Despite the notion of engaging in sexual activity with Punk making him want to vomit. Randy had never felt any temptation to explore his sexuality, he was unquestionably a ladies man. Just the notion of touching another man intimately made his whole body shudder. If you were that way incline then fair enough, but for him it was something that he never saw the appeal in.

But sometimes you have to do things you wouldn't do normally to succeed. And this was one of those times. This was his sacrifice in this war.

Randy looked up at the television once he heard 'Cult of Personality' play. Punk was victorious. 'Fucker.' Randy muttered at the TV.

He looked around the room trying to find a suitable place for his note. Eventually deciding on top of Punk's luggage was a great option Randy silently slipped his way out the door with a maniacal grin on his face.

This was turning out to be more fun than he originally thought it would be.

...

Punk gathered up his shampoo, shower gel and towel ready to shower when out of the corner of his eye he saw a piece of paper on his luggage.

Punk picked up the note and his eyes widened in horror. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was the perpetrator. He looked all around the vicinity half expecting Orton to appear with that sick smirk and stare zoning in on him. Punk's heartbeat was thudding in his chest. He gulped before reading the note again.

_It has begun. This is only the start. I'll be watching you. Always._

Punk screwed up the note and threw it in the trash and strode off with anger into the shower. Once he was under the hot spray he felt his aches and pains dwindle and his mind switch off.

No WWE. No pressure. No worries. And finally no Randy Orton.

For a few minutes he let the water rain down on him. His mind was a total blank. His head a vacuum. It was pure bliss. The water rushed down, the water dampening his shorn hair, and little rivers and streams ran over his broad back and muscular chest. Water sloshed at his feet as he widened his stance. Both palms placed on the granite tiles of the shower room. Punk leant forward his back arched as he watched the rush of water between his feet be swallowed up by the plug hole. A gentle relaxed sigh escaped him.

Not a care in the world.

Then it all came back with a sick and twisted crash. His eyes snapped open. He could feel himself being watched. He knew it. He could sense it.

But no way would Orton be there. Why would he watch him in the shower?

He slowly rotated his head. He ran his hands through his damp hair and rubbed at his eyes to clear away the water to clearly see in the corner of the shower room Orton stood staring at him.

The Viper had an almost erotic look on his face and he did nothing to hide his obvious staring at Punk's body. And Randy's eyes were indeed all over Punk's body. Punk was alarmed when he felt the ice cold orbs come to a halt on his dick. Randy made Punk feel truly uncomfortable and self conscious. Punk cupped his hands over his manhood and glared at the Viper.

'What the hell! Get the fuck out!' Punk shouted, his anger spiralling out of control at the invasion of his privacy.

Randy remained still in just his wrestling trunks; his boots and knee pads long gone and currently in his own locker room. Randy's eyes roamed over the wet CM Punk, his brain registering that Punk actually looked pretty good. Randy certainly appreciated the artwork that adorned Punk's body. If there was one solitary thing in the entire world Punk and he could converse about it was tattoos. Yet they never had. And neither had the intention to do so anytime in the future.

Seeing that Randy wasn't going anywhere Punk debated leaving himself. Anything to rid himself of the mad Apex Predator. But then his stubborn nature reared its ugly head. Why the fuck should he leave? It was his locker room. His shower. He turned away from Orton, and played Orton at his own game. If Orton was to ignore him time and time again, then Punk would give him the same treatment.

Punk lost his bashfulness and removed his hands from his intimate area and unashamedly continued on with his shower as if Randy wasn't there. He soaped up his hands and washed the copious amount of sweat free from his body. He ran his fingers through his short shaved hair as he rubbed in the shampoo. He turned completely around giving Orton an access all areas pass as he rotated to ensure all the shampoo was washed free from his hair.

For what seemed like an eternity, when really it was a couple of minutes at most, Punk crooked an eye open to see if the muted Orton was still there. He was alarmed and infuriated to see the man still stood rooted to the spot. Punk turned to face him fully nude giving the Apex Predator the full show.

'Why don't you take a picture it will last longer?' Punk sarcastically quipped as he held his arms out wide showing off every inch and contour of his body.

Randy's stone faced features morphed into a sick smirk, his teeth almost glistening with venom. He glanced up and down Punk's entire frame painfully slowly as if taking in every detail before resting on his eyes. They held each others gaze before finally Randy moved and disappeared from the entrance.

Punk didn't take his eyes away from where Randy had previously stood for a long while. He actually believed Randy would return the minute his back was turned. Eventually summoning the courage Punk went back to the original task at hand. He finished showering in a hurry, he was eager to get the hell out of the arena and back to the comfort and safety of his hotel room.

He suddenly wondered if Randy would be in the same hotel. Following him. Watching him. He wondered whether the man knew what room he was in. Punk could feel actual fear building up inside. He hated that fact with a passion. He would never admit it aloud or to anyone, but deep in his heart he held a real fear when it came to the snake.

Could he attain freedom anywhere?

Again he forcibly quashed the fear. He told himself that the situation he found himself in was ridiculous, he's a grown man and he will not let Randy Orton of all people get to him. It was sick and twisted mind games, that's all. After what he had said to Randy about him being jealous, this was Orton's deranged way of getting payback.

That is all.

End of story.

Punk returned to the main part of his private locker room with a towel loosely fastened around his waist. He took a cautious approach, still on edge and looking out for a lurking Viper hiding in the grass ready to strike. But fortunately the room was barren. As he neared his belongings however his heart sank to the bottom of the ocean as he saw another crumpled up note.

Maybe he was justified in feeling fear. Maybe he should be feeling a very deep and very real fear. With trepidation he picked up the ripped up piece of paper and read it;

_I told you I would be watching always. And I liked what I saw..._

...

* * *

**So Randy's creepy factor has just gone up considerably. I mean who watches someone in the shower?! Although I definitely would watch Punk in the shower if given the chance...so I guess I'm creepy too. Nevermind!**

**Hope you enjoyed it :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I really didn't want to leave such a long gap between chapters, so I apologise. Here's the next chapter and I hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

He had skated way past irritation now. Randy Orton was the bane of CM Punk's life.

Everywhere the Second City Saint went Orton seemed to be his shadow. It had Punk's nerves shot to pieces. The man didn't even feel comfortable on his own tour bus, or in his hotel room. He was even looking over his shoulder every time he went to the men's bathroom.

Punk could firmly attest that Randy Orton is a complete whack job!

Punk couldn't fathom how he had found himself in such a predicament. While Randy and he had never been friends in even the smallest fraction he never believed for a second he would receive this treatment from the Apex Predator.

Punk found himself stumped when he tried to ascertain a reason for Orton's strange behaviour. He had tried on numerous occasions to try and pry some information from the Viper, but all he got in return was maddening silence or baffling cryptic notes.

Speaking of notes, Punk had been startled to find another ripped up piece of paper with scrawled handwriting on his tour bus. More precisely on the bed in his tour bus. The fact that Orton was now daring to enter his bus made the fear swarm inside Punk even more! It was a line that Punk didn't think Orton would cross. But it seemed that lately Randy had crossed multiple lines Punk believed at one point in time he never would.

A question inevitably rose up; Just how far was Orton going to go with this creepy stalking mentally deranged behaviour?

The Viper definitely had no respect for personal boundaries. What line would Orton not cross? Where was the cut off point? And the most burning question; what did he want from all of this?

There had to be a motive.

Punk's mind flashed back to the words jotted down on the scrunched up piece of paper.

_Addiction is hard to beat. Especially when the object you desire is so tempting. _

'Why did Randy mention addiction? Is that his weird way of trying to tell me that he's interested in me?' Punk thought out loud in a hushed whisper, totally misinterpreting Orton's words.

It was a notion that had struck him since the notes first started. And it was the only possible explanation he could find in the darkness of mystery. The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself it was the truth.

Yet at the very same time it struck him as odd seeing as Orton had never been shy about just how much he was fond of the female form. The man had certainly never shown any signs of being that way inclined so to speak. He had never ever given any signals that he was attracted to Punk at least.

Punk's mind was officially boggled.

He was exhausted from the constant whirlwind of thoughts and feelings rushing through him over the past few weeks. Randy had caused major chaos in his cranium and Punk was beginning to weaken. The frustration that Orton brought out in him was close to exploding and once that happened Punk was unsure of what he would do.

Would he demand answers to Orton's stalking? Or would he just punch him and be done with it?

The vast locker room that Punk currently inhabited was nearly empty, save for himself and none other than the object of his disaffection. Punk looked over to see Randy's eyes transfixed on him. He knew they would be. They always were. Nowadays it seemed to be a guarantee. Over the past few weeks it was as if Punk had developed a sixth sense; he could always feel when those menacing blue orbs were firing his way.

Punk's stomach twisted in knots, his whole body twitching, urging him to go over and face off with Orton. He bit his lip trying hard to stifle the anger building up inside, but it was all for nought as when he looked up and saw a devious smirk on the Vipers face all the bottled up anger exploded with the force of a volcano.

Punk travelled the breadth of the room in a flash, moving as fast as molten lava during an eruption. He collided with Orton's body, sending the man crashing backwards into the wall. Tattooed hands pinned Orton to the wall and rage darkened eyes cast a looming shadow over Orton's features.

'What the hell is your problem? Will you just cut this shit out!' Punk yelled.

Randy's smirk only grew as Punk made it crystal clear to him that he had gotten under Punk's skin and was well and truly causing havoc in Punk's mind.

One step closer to the ultimate goal.

'Is stalking me your new hobby?' Punk snarled, as he shoved Orton against the concrete wall even harder. Frustratingly Orton remained silent. 'Fucking answer me!' Punk demanded.

Randy stayed deathly silent, but eerily his eyes started to roam Punk's face. They moved slowly. Methodically. Almost as if he was studying every single feature to imprint in his minds eye. Punk grew uncomfortable at the attention and took a step back.

But instantly Orton reclosed the distance. He cocked his head and his tongue darted out and licked at his thin pink lips. 'Seems like I've got you a little worked up, Punk?'

Punk gritted his teeth as he could hear a smug tone behind Orton's words. The guy finally speaks, and ironically when he does Punk's first instinct is to tell him to shut up. He had walked right into Orton's clutches, he was playing Orton's deranged games. He was giving Orton what he wanted. And he knew it.

'Fuck you.' Punk shook his head and turned from the object of his ire.

Punk didn't get far. A mere step. Orton spun Punk back around and his left hand clutched onto Punk's shoulder. The other hand however ran slowly down his abdomen, before seductively running along the waistband of Punk's trunks.

Randy's eyes delved into Punk's and the Second City Saints breath got lodged in his throat from the intensity. And from the blue beauty.

No! It wasn't beauty! It was absolute lunacy!

'You know, I can help you release some of that tension.' Randy practically whispered in that deep dulcet tone.

Punk's eyes widened as he felt fingertips briefly dip under the fabric of his trunks, travelling dangerously low before reappearing. His whole body tingled, every sinew electrified. He was lost. Floating out to sea without a life jacket or rescue boat on the horizon.

Fingers gently brushed against the skin just underneath his trunks again, and miraculously he regained his bearings. He pushed Orton with all the strength he could muster and the Viper met the cold hard breeze block once again.

'What the fuck?! Is that what this is all about? You want me?' Punk asked. Like he thought before that idea wasn't a new one, he had mulled over it time and time again, now he had finally accused the Viper.

The Straight Edge Superstar still struggled with the accusation, he just couldn't believe it to be the truth. It was far fetched. Ludicrous even. But after Orton's amorous display, the evidence was damning.

Randy had come onto him. There was no objecting that. Orton didn't have a leg to stand on.

But why? Why now?

It all felt so odd to Punk. Cue mass confusion. Orton wasn't gay. Neither was Punk. There was a vital piece of information missing and Punk knew that once he attained it he would have a clear indication of Orton's true intentions.

Randy had been silent since Punk had queried whether he wanted him. And Punk sensed that it had absolutely nothing to do with Orton staying silent because he wanted to, instead it had everything to do with him not knowing what to say.

Punk had Orton backed into a corner and maybe right here and right now he could end this craziness that Orton had brought into his life.

But then that trademark smirk greeted Punk.

Randy walked right back into Punk's personal space, so close that Punk could feel the taller mans breath on his face as Orton tilted his head to catch Punk's gaze.

'I want you, Punk. Just as much as you want me.' Randy's seductive voice rumbled.

Punk was caught off guard. There was no way shape or form that he wanted Randy Orton. Not in that way anyway. He wasn't that way inclined. He certainly wanted Randy Orton's head on a platter though!

Although, the chill that ran through his entire body; head to toe, when Orton's slender fingers dipped into his trunks told a different story. It felt...good. Soft and gentle. Almost arousing...

_'No! Shit! That is what he wants!' Punk thought to himself._

Before Punk could comeback with a sarcastic or witty retort Orton slithered right by him and left the locker room leaving Punk alone to battle against his unwanted thoughts.

Another round won by the disturbing and maniacal Viper.

...

Raw had rushed by in a daze and Punk had longed for the end of the night. After competing in the after show dark match he trudged slowly backstage and back to his locker room. He had got all his shower essentials together and headed toward the bathroom.

As had become a custom he looked over his shoulder, left and right, and back again half expecting to see Orton materialise like something out of the underworld. Luckily for him that night there was no such appearance.

As the minutes ticked by, Punk relaxed more and more as the steam cocooned him and the hot rush of the water on his skin soothed his aches and pains.

Whilst Punk enjoyed relaxing in the shower his devious pursuer slipped inside the Second City Saint's dressing room undetected. Randy was still in his wrestling attire as he had appeared on Raw right before Punk. He had waited for Punk to return to his private locker room, and once he had Randy gave him a sufficient amount of time to get in the shower so that when he broke inside his locker room he knew Punk would be none the wiser.

Unlike last time however he wasn't going to watch the Chicago native under the hot spray, he was going to do something even more disturbing. Randy quietly padded over to Punk's luggage and found what he was looking for.

A smirk that rivalled the devil rose up as he lowered his trunks off his hips. His half hard dick sprung free and within seconds of his fingers curling around the base he was fully erect. He took a firm grip and his hand slowly rose from base to tip. Randy spat into his palm and the thick shaft throbbed as his pace quickened.

Orton bit his lip as he felt his excitement increase. His sack tightened as he inched closer to his orgasm. His eyes slipped shut as he thought back to last night and the woman he fucked senseless in his hotel room.

_Long brown hair curled around his fingers. Beautiful green eyes full of wanton lust staring right into him. A tattooed arm reaching out for him as strong thighs encircled his waist. A shining lip ring enthralling him beyond belief. She was fucking sexy as hell._

'Mm, fuck yeah.' A gravelled moan dripped from Orton's lips.

His hand moved at a frenetic pace, his free hand cupping his balls and rolling them gently within his palm. His impressive member twitched as it leaked pre-cum from the tip and aided his stroking as it ran down the length of his shaft. More moans escaped him as he felt his orgasm begin to bubble to the surface. He was so close.

His left hand fell from his sack and he fumbled for the object he retrieved from Punk's luggage. He held it up as his eyes fluttered open. He stared. The bright yellow almost glowing before him. Without hesitation he brought it closer. His senses went into overdrive as he clutched the fabric tighter within his fingers.

Clenched in his fist was Punk's yellow trunks. The very same garment that Punk had wore to the ring that night. The very same trunks that Orton's fingers had toyed with earlier that day.

Orton was unsure of what he was doing. His brain had ceased activity. He had lost himself in his own arousal. His impending climax clouding his judgement as he brought the attire to his face. He breathed in deeply and a full on assault attacked his senses. The smell of Punk's sweat and the musky scent of Punk's intimate area invaded Orton's nostrils and a low deep guttural moan came from deep within Orton as he reached his limit.

He twisted his hand on his latest upstroke and he crashed hard into his orgasm. He took one last lingering smell of Punk's intoxicating trunks before lowering them to his dick. He bit his lip harder; a metallic taste dancing on his tongue as he drew blood, as he tried to keep any moans that threatened to escape inside desperate not to alert the unsuspecting WWE champion. It was futile however, he grunted loudly as his cum erupted from his dick. He wrapped Punk's trunks around his fist and every spurt of cum landed and dripped upon the fabric saturating it. Relentlessly Orton pumped, draining his cock for all it was worth until he was completely and utterly spent. He took deep breaths trying desperately to regulate his breathing and slow his rapid heart rate.

As his lust addled brain subsided, he quickly tucked his softening penis back inside his wrestling trunks and pulled them back onto his hips. The cum soaked trunks of CM Punk's however he proudly displayed on top of the mans luggage.

He retrieved a scrap bit of paper that he had brought with him along with a pen and again he scribbled one of his infamous notes. It was fast becoming his favourite torture device. He placed the note right beside Punk's abused clothing and the devilish smirk he wore earlier returned in all its raving glory.

Suddenly he heard the water turn off. Punk had finished his shower. That was Orton's cue to leave. He jogged toward the door, and before he disappeared he took one last glance back at his handiwork.

He had just inched even closer into driving Punk over the edge. He just knew it. He could sense it. All would be right with the world soon. The WWE title sparkled at him from across the room, it was calling out for him. Soon it would be his. Soon it would be back home.

Punk slowly ambled back into the main part of his dressing room, droplets of water cascading down his damp well muscled body. He removed the towel from around his waist and started to dry off. He threw the towel onto the bench once he felt he was dry enough and the small gust of wind it created sent Orton's note flying to the floor.

Punk saw it fall in his peripheral and instantly his stomach dropped and lurched as he saw a crumpled bit of paper land under the bench. He cautiously bent down and picked it up.

He questioned whether he should even read it. Maybe he should just throw it in the trash and not give Orton the satisfaction of torturing him any further. He had endured this long enough.

Punk scrunched up the torn off bit of paper, and moved toward the trash can. But he halted. His curiosity gnawed away at him. It was alluring. Temptation at its worst.

_**Damn it!**_

He caved in and straightened out the paper and read Orton's latest note;

_Every man has to face an addiction. Even you Straight Edge. I left you a present. I was thinking of you the entire time._

Punk's mind clouded with confusion. He was the one that is facing an addiction not Randy? The Apex Predator made no sense. If there was any certainty in Punk's life it was that he had no addictions. No vices. Not a single one.

So what the hell was Orton talking about?

Then Punk saw his present. His trunks were now miraculously on top of his luggage instead of folded neatly inside where he had left them. Punk picked them up and that's when he saw the obvious and disgusting present that Orton had left him.

The full weight of the situation he found himself in dawned on Punk in that moment. Randy Orton was a crazy motherfucker, and there was nothing that Punk could do or say that seemed to stop Orton from his psychotic behaviour.

There was no stopping the snake.

Punk was now truly fearful of just how far Orton was willing to go. Hell, he was fearful of what Orton actually wanted from him. Punk was lost on an island of confusion and fear, and he would be marooned there until Orton provided him with some much needed and wanted answers.

...

* * *

**Randal you creep! Well, that was weird. Poor Punk! Or lucky Punk...maybe? Lol. Just a FYI, if anyone would like to read some more Punkton, I posted a new one-shot a little while back too. Thanks for reading and I'll try not to leave you waiting too long for the next chapter. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm glad you guys like the story so far, hopefully that will continue. Personally I feel like the story really starts to heat up in this chapter and beyond. **

**I've just got to say the match between Punk and Randy a few weeks ago on Raw was great, and the highlight was totally when Randy straddled Punk and just led on him...THAT SHIT WAS HOT! LOL.**

**Speaking of Raw, the segment last week with Punk, Heyman and Lesnar was pure gold! I can't wait for Summerslam. I just hope Punk wins! I can smell a heel turn for Randy coming too...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

From a distance he watched. He studied. Looking for any hint or sign of Punk weakening. Week by week. Day by day. He had seen the weight of his mind games take hold. Randy knew he was constantly inside Punk's head. His actions and his words were on an endless cycle and Punk couldn't put a stop to it no matter how hard he tried.

Orton could see the bags under Punk's eyes worsen. Clearly something was keeping the Second City Saint up at night and Randy knew it was him. His plan was coming along nicely. Slowly but surely the calculating Viper had increased the pressure over the last few weeks. His ever present presence had Punk looking over his shoulder. His disturbing notes left Punk trembling, afraid of there meaning. His leering caused confusion. And it was all weighing heavily on Punk's increasingly fragile state of mind.

Randy sensed it was taking its toll. And he was utterly remorseless. The spot in the company that Punk occupied was rightfully his and he was drawing ever closer to reclaiming it.

The demonic Apex Predator knew Punk wouldn't report his despicable actions to the authorities or anyone in management. At first it was a major concern, but now Orton was sure that it wasn't a possibility. Punk's pride wouldn't allow himself to show any weakness to anyone, especially the McMahon's or any of the roster. Randy had no worries on that front.

Pride was always so deadly.

And never forget pride comes before a fall.

Punk was faltering. He was losing the battle of wills. It hadn't escaped Randy's notice that Punk was a step behind in the ring as of late. It hadn't escaped Randy's notice that Punk had stumbled over his words during his promo that night on Raw. The master of the pipe bomb was losing his touch. Randy couldn't wipe the twisted grin off his face when Punk fumbled live on Raw. It was all coming together.

Randy furthered the pressure week after week, and now he was preparing to enter the next phase. All he needed was for Kofi Kingston to leave. In the arena that night the Superstars were forced to share a locker room and only three men remained.

Randy Orton, Kofi Kingston and CM Punk.

And the object of Orton's destruction was currently unaware of the danger that he potentially found himself in as he was in the shower. When Punk entered the shower the locker room was bustling, now all that remained as his saviour was Kingston.

Unfortunately for the WWE champion Kingston picked up the last of his belongings and headed out the door and a devilish smirk found itself spread over Orton's features. He was finding the experience of torturing Punk rather enjoyable. The voices in his sick and demented head goaded him on as he removed the towel from around his waist and entered the showers.

Punk was oblivious to the trap he found himself in. From recent history being alone in the shower with Randy Orton was not a pleasant predicament to find himself in.

Randy silently moved past Punk and he watched as the water rushed down Punk's body. Orton couldn't help but acknowledge that the Straight Edge Superstar looked good as the droplets of water ran over his skin. His tongue licked salaciously at his thin lower lip as his gaze stopped at Punk's manhood. His hand twitched by his side almost in an effort to reach out, but Orton crushed his confusion at the notion and shook the urge away.

This wasn't what he had planned.

He regained his composure and turned the water on. The water quickly fell and he saw Punk jump as he was alarmed to realise he was no longer alone. One eye crept open and Randy loved to see the fear rise up in Punk as the WWE champion realised he found himself alone with Orton in the confines of the showers yet again.

Punk felt an immediate desire to escape and run for the hills. The last thing he wanted lately was to be anywhere near Randy Orton. He was being suffocated by the man for unknown reasons and he was reaching his wits end.

He had briefly considered reporting Orton to Hunter or Vince, but he quickly concluded that what he had to say to them was quite frankly unbelievable. Who would believe Randy Orton was actively stalking CM Punk? If he did say anything to anyone it would probably wind up with him getting committed to an insane asylum, not Randy Orton.

Ironically that was where he truly believed Randy Orton belonged.

Punk knew it was crazy. He knew it was unbelievable. He could hardly believe it himself. He had tried time and time again to tell himself he was imagining it, but the more time that passed the more disturbing Orton grew. For chrissake the man had jerked off using his trunks! Punk's brain was fried, this didn't compute! But it was undeniable that Orton had some sort of business that he wanted with Punk. Punk just couldn't understand what. And why he was going about it in such a manner.

Punk's eyes locked onto Randy's and again his body flinched needing to escape. But his hard headed and stubborn nature kept him in place. He tried to force the Viper out of his head and continued with his shower. He gathered the shampoo in a tiny pool in his palm and began to massage it into his short hair. He quickly rinsed and watched the foam join the whirlpool at the plug hole.

And then he heard it. A deep erotic moan. A growl almost.

Punk's body turned immobile. He froze like an ice statue. There it was again. A low rumble that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The ice thawed and he managed to turn his head and the sight that greeted him was breath stealing.

There a tanned, glistening and muscled body stood under a cascade of water with steam swirling around the hard body. It was a sight to behold. Punk gulped. All of a sudden his mouth ran drier than a desert. Then a frantic movement drew his gaze. A strong large hand was tightly wrapped around a thick and impressive cock. Punk was hypnotised by every stroke. His breath hitched in his throat as the engorged purple head peaked out of the fist and he saw a mixture of pre-cum and water making the shaft glisten.

Punk wanted to banish away the thoughts. He started to silently chant that he wasn't aroused at the sight. However, he remained transfixed on the glorious body before him. It was godlike. It was out of this world.

His whole body cried out to feel all that hard, chiselled muscle against his own skin. He didn't just want it. He needed it. He felt like he couldn't function without having it. Punk was falling. He was living dangerously close to the edge.

And Randy Orton knew it.

He could see the wanton lust in Punk's dazed orbs. He unashamedly moaned as he twisted on the latest upstroke. He bit his lip teasingly and Punk's eyes flared as they fell upon Randy's face. A smirk rose up. Fangs glistened. The venom was spitting and poisoning Punk's mind further.

Bolt after bolt. Shock after shock. Every part of Punk's body tingled and shivered with anticipation and he felt his dick stir from its flaccid state. An alarm was ringing. It was piercing. It was deafening. He was in the lions den and was about to be feast upon.

Randy's voice rumbled again and Punk loved the sound of it. He wanted to hear it again and again. Randy's venom danced on his tongue as he saw Punk's member start to twitch and harden. He could see Punk's own gaze moving south and as Randy looked back up to Punk's face he could see defeat in the Chicagoans eyes.

Punk knew Randy had seen just how aroused he was becoming. For fucksake he had practically guided Randy to it. Punk had to end this now. He should've left when he had the chance. The minute he was aware of the Apex Predators presence he should've bolted out the door. Punk closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment as he felt his dick reach full hardness. What was happening to him? What had he become?

He heard water slosh and splash and his eyes instantly snapped open. There Orton stood mere inches away now. Randy was under his shower head. All Punk had to do was reach out and he could feel everything. All of it. The hard chest. The rippling abs. The dripping cock. Punk was trembling in a mixture of arousal, fear and nerves. He was falling apart at the seams.

He peered down and his straining erection was dripping pre-cum and begging for attention. Randy cleared his throat grabbing Punk's attention and made sure Punk watched enthralled as Randy's intense blue eyes travelled down Punk's body before resting on his manhood. Randy moaned again, he bit his lip determined to make Punk believe he was turned on by the Second City Saint.

A whisper in The Vipers head told him he actually was.

He ignored it and reminded himself this was just for show. This was all to further Punk's eventual addiction. An addiction that was seemingly inevitable. Punk was in a state Orton believed he would struggle to get Punk into. But with relative ease Punk had fallen into Randy's tangled web of treachery.

Punk watched as Randy's other hand fondled his sack and Punk's fingers flexed. He fought with all his might to keep a restraint on his body. He had already been betrayed by his penis, his hands were not going to add to his misery.

He chanted again. Telling himself to escape. To end the madness. Instead he reached out. Randy smirked. Punk was about to make the biggest mistake of his life so far. Punk's hand hovered. Mere centimetres were between Punk's hand and Randy's soaked and shining torso. Closer and closer. The gap dwindled.

Then quickly Punk moved past the Vipers body and turned off the hot water. In a flash he spun around and ran at a pace out of the shower leaving Orton behind.

Randy made no move to stop him. He had already accomplished what he wanted. The fact that Punk had gotten so close to touching him was the goal. Plus the fact that Punk got hard was an added bonus. Randy knew he had taken a gigantic leap forward in his ultimate end game.

Punk would be his to destroy irrevocably in no time. And destroy him he would. Without care. Without remorse. Randy would be on top again. Looking down on Punk like he always should.

...

CM Punk had gone over it again and again. The shower incident struck him hard. He was walking on a tight rope and one false move and he would plummet to his death. His mind had been successfully infiltrated by Randy Orton and it seemed the Viper had set up permanent residence there.

All Punk could see in his minds eye was the glorious sight of Orton's body drenched in water. Teasing droplets of water running over his flesh. Every inch of Orton's body was imprinted in his mind, including the very part that made Orton male. Punk couldn't shake it away. No matter how hard he tried. The thick, long and pulsating shaft was a sight to see. The excitement kept running through him and made all the blood in his body run south and he would find himself hard within his jeans all the time.

Why did his body react? Why did it defy him? He had no attraction to the male form ever before in his life. But Orton's body called out to him like a siren and enthralled him like no woman's ever had. He hated that. He hated Randy Orton. But even more than that he hated himself.

He had managed to attain zero sleep since that Monday night. It was now Thursday. The WWE were in the midst of their European tour. The current location was Germany and they were on the road to the latest hotel they would rest in. Many Superstars were crammed onto the tour bus, and most were in a peaceful sleep, but as always Punk was wide awake.

He sat alone at the back. Shrouded by darkness he looked down the length of the bus. He could see the Viper. The back of his head rested just above the top of the seat. Punk couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. Everyone close to Punk was. Ryder, Kofi, Ambrose, Rollins and Reigns were all fast asleep, some even snoring at a ridiculous volume.

Punk released a heavy sigh. The pressure that Orton had put on his shoulders was weighing him down. So much so he felt he was close to drowning. Randy was under his skin. Punk was flirting with danger and he needed to rid himself of Orton's amorous advances in a quick and decisive fashion.

But how? The Viper had been tenacious. He wouldn't go away easily.

His eyes slipped shut and he furrowed around in his mind for a way to remedy the situation. He didn't remain there long though as he felt a large palm rest on his thigh. His eyes flashed open and there sat beside him was his arch nemesis.

Even in the pitch black night Punk could see blue eyes sparkling. The strong palm ran up and down his thigh, the only barrier between skin was the thin material of his baggy basketball shorts. Slender fingers inched higher and higher. Punk bit his lip to stifle a moan.

Randy smirked, he knew Punk was holding back.

Punk gulped. He read that smirk, he knew that Randy had discovered he was holding back a moan. That bastard always knew. It was if the Viper could read his mind.

Randy leant in close to Punk's ear and Punk tried to move away but was cornered seeing as he took the window seat. He could feel the Apex Predators warm breath tingling against his cheek. His hand still roaming back and forth over his thigh.

'I know you liked what you saw, Punk.' That deep familiar voice whispered hotly in his ear. 'Just say the word and you can see it again.'

Punk bit his lip hard. His body was on fire. His heart pumping ferociously. Randy's palm ran higher the tips of his fingers disappearing under his shorts and gently brushing his balls over and over. His eyes rolled back into his head as he felt a wet tongue lick at his ear lobe.

'_Fuck, this feels so good!' Punk thought before yelling at himself. 'No! No, no, no. I need to stop this now!'_

Punk snapped his head toward Orton and glared menacingly. 'Get off me! And move the fuck away.' He gritted through his teeth quietly, hoping not to disturb any of his sleeping colleagues. The last thing he needed was for anyone to witness this!

Or maybe he did. Then everyone could see for themselves just how crazy Randy Orton was. Again he considered telling Vince or Hunter about his situation, but quite frankly the story was inconceivable. And if he felt that way, then they sure as hell would too. Besides he didn't want to give Randy the satisfaction of knowing how much he had creeped him out.

No, this was a problem that Punk needed to solve on his own...but damn it Orton made it hard to accomplish.

'You don't really want me to stop.' Randy whispered into his ear, that deep rumble sending sparks to Punk's groin.

The soft breathing against his neck sent shivers down Punk's spine, and he was horrified to feel his dick starting to thicken against his thigh. Randy's palm moved higher now on top of the fabric, delicate digits ran back and forth over the thickening length and once it was fully erect The Viper had no hesitation as he cupped the growing bulge through the shorts, squeezing the shaft just below the thick leaking head.

Randy couldn't believe what he had just done, but he had done it willingly and without hesitation. Most alarming though was whilst he was focusing fully on Punk's now fully erect and frankly impressive manhood, he was finding himself in a similar condition.

'See. You want me really.' Randy whispered teasingly as he felt Punk pulse and twitch more and more under his palm and in the confines of his shorts.

Punk fought hard to stifle a moan, but it was in vain as it escaped in a pathetic squeak. Randy had him right where he wanted him. Punk knew he was playing right into Orton's hands and yet he could do nothing to stop it. It was like Randy had a spell over him. He was enchanted. He was a slave to Randy's words. To Randy's touch.

His mind was a fog. He was surrounded by Randy. The snake was coiled around him. He was everywhere!

_**Randy Orton. Randy Orton. Randy Orton.**_

Then suddenly it halted. Randy's palm ceased its delicious actions. It rested, cupping the bulge in Punk's shorts. His breath no longer tingled against the skin on Punk's neck.

'Are you sure you don't want me, Punk?' Orton asked quietly. 'Because I think your entire body says otherwise.'

Punk couldn't argue. He was hard. So damn hard. Painfully hard. His cock was pulsating and throbbing. He could feel the pre-cum dribbling from the tip. He wanted Randy to take hold of it and bring him to completion so badly, but Punk wouldn't ask for it. He wouldn't beg. He already fought the urge to buck into Orton's touch. He wouldn't give in. He was stronger than that. He had to be.

Punk turned his head back toward Orton. There noses and foreheads touching. Punk calmed his racing heart and his trembling limbs. He took a rough grasp of Randy's wrist and from somewhere deep down he found the strength and removed it from his aching penis.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me. Get the hint Randal, I want nothing to do with you.' Punk hissed as he rebelled against his true desires and the tempting Viper.

Punk stared at Orton. He waited. For an agonising minute they just stared. Punk expected Orton to carry on his enticing assault. Or to even threaten him in that cold, deep and menacing voice.

Neither happened.

Instead, he was greeted with a chuckle. An unsettling hushed chuckle. Randy leant in close again. 'Keep telling yourself that, Punk. But we both know the truth.'

Fingers then ran along the waistband of Punk's shorts and then dipped gently underneath. Punk couldn't withstand the teasing and his body betrayed him giving a clear signal to Orton and himself about what he wanted as he bucked his hips into the touch.

But the soft caress left him just as suddenly as it arrived.

In a flash Orton disappeared slithering down the bus back to his seat. Punk let out a deep sigh of relief. He managed to navigate his way through another Orton minefield without succumbing to the desire that Orton kept bringing out in him. However, he knew that he wanted what Orton could give him more than anything in the world. And what was worse he knew Randy knew that as well.

Then he became aware of the the object that Orton had left behind.

There tucked into the waistband of his basketball shorts was a folded piece of paper. So that was what Orton's last fleeting touch was due to. Punk whimpered pathetically, he couldn't take much more of this. He unfolded the paper and dug into his pocket for his iPhone.

The screen lit up and he used it as a makeshift light to read the latest torture that Orton was about to dish out.

And it read;

_We both know that you will fall. Your body is crying out for mine. I can make you feel things you've only ever dreamed about before. Give in Punk._

Punk crumpled the note in his hand. He felt a stab of pain to his heart and his stomach drop. He felt a wave of nausea rush over him. Randy's words cut like a knife. Every word rung true. Randy Orton was all he could think about. All he wanted to see. All he wanted to feel. The more time that passed the closer he fell into Orton's clutches and tangled web.

All his life he adhered to the straight edge code. Nothing and no one could alter his lifestyle choice for all those years. He wasn't easily swayed. But now at 34 years old he was actually scared that he was coming face to face with a very real and very dark addiction.

The drug that brought forth this addiction was none other than the cold and calculating Randy Orton!

...


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to all who have read, favourited, followed and especially reviewed. I've loved hearing what you think :) I know updates haven't been that quick so far, but I'm getting better lol.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

The WWE was in the United Kingdom, that night they would tape Raw in London, England. CM Punk was enjoying some rare downtime, he was sprawled out over his bed in his hotel room and for once his mind wasn't clogged up with Randy Orton, it was swimming in the imaginary world of his latest comic book.

Respite over Randy Orton had come few and far between. Punk knew that was by design. A design crafted by Orton. He just didn't understand the why? Why was Randy playing mind games? Why was he coming on to him time and time again?

The endless roulette of questions had given Punk a headache, his confusion over the entire situation only growing and growing the more Orton inserted himself into his life.

Punk flipped the page engrossed wholly in his comic book, nothing else even playing on his mind. He was content and happy enjoying the creative world of Batman and his latest adventure, then his iPhone beeped.

Punk dug around the bed, he knew it was there somewhere and when he finally located it between the two ample pillows he saw he had received a text message.

_Text received 1.17pm._

_from: Unknown contact_

_What are you doing right now?_

Punk stared blankly at the screen, his mind rushing through potential people this unknown messenger could be. Unfortunately, the Voice of the Voiceless couldn't think of anyone. He hit reply and asked who the mystery contact was.

A mere minute past before his cell beeped once more.

_Text received 1.20pm_

_from: Unknown contact_

_The man that has been on your mind lately._

Punk's stomach dropped to his toes. No way! No way in hell was Randy Orton now stalking him through his cell phone too. How the hell had the crazy motherfucker got his number?

Punk's thumbs rapidly typed a simple query.

_Randy?_

Another reply came in an instant. And Punk attained confirmation.

_Text received 1.22pm_

_from: Unknown contact_

_Correct. I noticed you didn't deny that I'm on your mind Punk._

Punk's fist clenched the device, it creaked under the immense pressure. Why could Randy Orton wheedle his way into his brain so fucking easily? Punk saved Randy Orton's number into his phone book just incase and then replied.

_Text received 1.25pm_

_from: CM Punk_

_You're not on my mind. AT ALL. Leave me the fuck alone!_

Punk hit send and hoped that Orton's texts would cease, but deep down he knew that wish was in vain. Orton had been tenacious thus far, and he didn't see the Viper quitting anytime soon. Punk knew he had shown weakness in the shower. And on the tour bus in Germany. His body let him down. He knew it. And more importantly Orton knew it.

Sure enough Punk's iPhone beeped again.

_Text received 1.27pm_

_from: Randy Orton_

_I don't believe that. And neither do you._

Punk gritted his teeth. He hated that every word he was staring at was the absolute truth. Orton knew he was in his head. Orton was in full control, and he had been for weeks. Punk felt the swell of determination arrive and he became adamant he wasn't going to engage in these games with the Apex Predator. He refused to reply and returned his cell phone to the pillow.

Minutes ticked on by and Punk submerged himself back into the hectic world of Batman. The world little by little slipped away, the chains that Orton placed around his psyche weakened. Then again his phone beeped...

Punk glared at the object. He knew it would be Randy. A voice reasoned with him to ignore it. But something else, something stronger took over his body and retrieved his phone. It was Orton. He had sent him a picture message. Punk knew he was flirting with danger, so why did he click open?

Punk's jaw hit the floor as he was greeted with the photo attachment. There in all his glory was an up close and personal picture of Randy Orton's erect penis. Any other time Punk would find the situation pathetically laughable, but due to recent events and Orton's recent actions he found himself filled with horror and dread. Yet with the tiniest flicker of excitement.

Punk couldn't tear his gaze away. He took in every detail. Every detail that he couldn't take in when he was in the shower with Orton a week before. The engorged purple head, the thick shaft with the prominent vein running down to a heavy and full sac. Punk practically choked on air as he felt his dick stiffen his jeans.

The caption that accompanied the crude picture read; _Thinking of you._

Punk's dick twitched and his heart rate quickened. His palms got sweaty and his stomach flipped. Randy was thinking of him? Well, now unquestionably CM Punk was thinking of Randy Orton as well.

What the hell was happening to him? That shouldn't be his bodies reaction to seeing Orton's erect dick. However, the curiosity and arousal the photo brought out in him was undeniable. And the little voice inside Punk's head changed allies.

It started to whisper strange things. It told Punk his most inner desire.

_**'You want Randy Orton.'**_

_..._

Randy's grin was full of arrogance. Every step of the plan since its inception has gone absolutely like he dreamed of. Punk was falling. Already hushed whispers had been doing the rounds that CM Punk was losing his touch. The champ was a step behind behind in the ring. His infamous promo's had lost that cutting edge. Randy knew it was time to force the issue, to really give Punk something to think about.

Weeks had passed since this had begun, Orton still had deep reservations about the act of performing sexually with another man, but it was still the idea that he pursued. And so far it was working. Punk's body had reacted to his own. Aroused at a simple touch. He just hoped Punk had been weakened enough mentally, or else this could sabotage the entire plan altogether.

The timing had to be exact.

Orton stared at the star on the wooden door before him. The gold star emblazoned with 'CM Punk'. He traced over the letters, soon they would be replaced with his own name. And his star will shine brighter than it ever had before. A reminder of why he needed to give it his all for this plan. A reminder of why he needed to make sacrifices. A reminder of why he needed to take risks.

He rose a hand ready to knock on the door, but he paused. Randy Orton knocks for no one. He grasped the door handle and walked straight in. Instantly Punk turned and faced him every inch of his body tense.

'You look a little worked up there, Punk.' Randy grinned with his typical smug and egotistical nature.

'Fuck you and fuck off!' Punk spat out without hesitation.

'Wow! What is with all the hostility?' That smug grin still plastered over his face.

'I'm hostile because I don't want to be around you. I don't understand why you're playing these games, and quite frankly I'm not even sure that I want to. But what I do know is that I'm sick of you acting as my damn shadow!' Punk's voice was stern, his glare meaning business. He in no uncertain terms wanted Orton to know that he wouldn't tolerate his mind games any longer.

'Really? You're sick of me?' Randy asked with a tone that implied Punk was bluffing.

'Damn right I am. The doors behind you.' Punk replied flatly and turned his back toward the Viper.

_**A big mistake.**_

Suddenly Punk met the wall with full force. He grunted in pain as his body hit the unforgiving breeze block. He was pinned to the wall by a seething snake that held him in place. He could feel warm flesh against his. Could hear and feel deep breaths from behind. Strong hands spun him around by his shoulders and then shoved him. His body met the wall again, this time back first. He hissed as his body slammed backwards against it.

He met the predators glare then, and he felt actual real fear rise up and take over his body. Randy's breath hissed through clenched teeth, those bright blue eyes were now clouded over to that of a shade of black. Randy displayed his strength again as a hand came and gripped Punk's throat.

Punk flinched he expected a punch or that large hand to curl tighter around his neck and choke the life out of him, but Orton did neither. Instead he leaned in close. Punk couldn't help the shiver that shuddered through him as Orton's soft breath whispered against the his ear.

'I hope you enjoyed the picture.'

Punk's eyes closed as that deep and sensual voice whispered to him. Having Randy this close, after everything he had done, and with the knowledge of the reactions that Randy brought out in him made Punk feel trapped. He was running out of air. And it had nothing to do with Randy's hand still on his throat, because the pressure hadn't even increased by a fraction. It had everything to do with the knowledge that Punk was beginning to weaken. He knew it deep down. Randy brought out thoughts and feelings that Punk had never imagined he could ever have...

Randy retreated, his hand slowly releasing its grip on the Second City Saint. As soon as there was a gap Punk slipped past the Apex Predator. He picked up his WWE championship and headed for the door. The room felt like it was spinning. And whilst he was losing his equilibrium, it was as if it was shrinking too. The walls closing in on him. Getting darker and darker. The door seeming to get further and further away. An almost claustrophobic panic overcame Punk.

He sprinted to the door and opened it. Freedom. He returned to the real word. He was thankful that Orton was where he left him. Punk gathered himself together knowing that his match was next and he needed to sort himself out. His performance lately had been suffering. And that adverse effect on his career was all down to one man.

Randy Orton.

Punk needed to end this. He was absolutely clueless how to do that though. Randy seemed determined. He was dogged. Tenacious. Unrelenting. Punk looked back over to Orton and cleared his throat, hoping with all his might to find his voice.

'The picture? I deleted it.' Punk stated. 'Now get the hint you douchebag, I want nothing to do with you.'

Punk didn't hang around for any retaliation. He slammed the door shut cutting off contact between Orton and himself. He secured the WWE title around his waist, took a deep breath and headed off toward the curtain.

...

CM Punk slumped down onto the bench inside his private locker room. He felt so weary. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the physical toll a wrestlers body tended to withstand. His weariness came down to one solitary thing.

Randy Orton.

Even when Punk was in the squared circle, when he was wrestling, doing the thing he loved most images of Orton struck him like a lightning bolt and he felt his body tingle and respond. Orton had worked his way into his head and was abusing his mind at every turn. Punk's strength had started to wane. He was falling apart. Not only was his career suffering. But his life.

Being a step behind in the ring and on the microphone was bad. But barely engaging in conversation with anyone else, cutting yourself off from the outside world every chance he got just to remain a safe distance from the imposing Viper was taking over his life. The man that allegedly heard voices in his head was ironically the only voice that was heard inside Punk's. And all the Second City Saint wanted was for him to shut the fuck up!

'Damn you look sexy all hot and sweaty.'

Punk instantly located the owner of that voice. He knew who it was just from the first syllable of the sentence that was spoke. Punk sighed, the unrelenting pressure never ceased.

Punk looked down to the floor between his feet and replied quietly for the Apex Predator to get out. But that lacked any bite. No harshness in his tone. God, even his voice sounded weary.

'Now why would I leave you all alone when we have so much to discuss.' Randy smirked as he leant back against the wall with his trademark arrogance. 'So, you really deleted the picture I sent you?'

Punk rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. 'Yes, now go away.'

'That's not appreciative, Punk.' Randy pushed himself off the wall and slowly stalked across the room toward the Chicago native. 'It's also a lie.'

Immediately that garnered Punk's attention. His head bolted up to see the bronzed muscles and skin stood right in front of him. He gulped at the sight. The body of an adonis was dripping in sweat and Randy remained in his wrestling gear. The thin and small amount of material hugging and cradling tight against Orton's body.

Punk swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to stand, hating having the taller man having such a vast height advantage. 'I'm afraid I did delete it. So, why don't you go and send a picture of your junk to someone that actually gives a crap.'

Randy smiled. A shit eating grin that Punk so badly wanted to punch. Randy reached to his waistband and produced a cell phone. Punk's eyes widened in horror. It looked a lot like his own cell. His head snapped around to his luggage.

'It's yours.' Randy revealed. 'And look what I found...'

Randy held the phone up to Punk's face and there displayed on the screen was the lewd picture Randy had sent. It hadn't been deleted. Punk so badly wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He had tried to delete the picture, his thumb hovered over the button, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't explain why. He just couldn't...

'Got anything to say there, Punk?' Randy asked. He knew he was aggravating the champion, he knew he was delving deeper and deeper into his mind and he loved every second of the torture that was clearly displayed in Punk's eyes.

Punk snatched the phone free from the Vipers grasp and threw it onto his luggage. He couldn't bring himself to look back at Orton. The embarrassment overwhelming. He wondered what he should do. Should he bail? Should he demand Orton to go? Fuck, he didn't even know his own mind anymore.

Luckily, or maybe unluckily Randy Orton made the decision for him.

Pouncing with agility Orton crashed his lips into Punk's and Punk was so shocked he didn't fight it. Randy grasped his shoulders and pushed him back against the wall. Lips brutally forced against Punk's.

Randy's right hand slid up his neck and a thumb pushed at Punk's chin and the moment Punk's lips parted Randy's tongue swirled into Punk's mouth. Punk whimpered, and couldn't stop himself from moving his own tongue along with Orton's.

Then just as suddenly as it started, it ended. Randy stood back and looked straight at Punk. A stare that had hints of lust and menace hiding in the blue. With maybe the tiniest flicker of confusion too.

Punk crashed back to reality and realised what happened. What he had let happen. 'Get off of me.' He croaked.

Randy chuckled. The bastard was now laughing at him. 'I'm not on you, Punk.'

Punk looked to Randy. There was distance between them now. So how come Punk could still feel and taste Randy Orton. The after shocks still coursed through his veins, that claustrophobic feeling came rushing back and he was desperate to escape.

'You can't tell me you didn't want that.'

Punk eyes fell shut as the deep voice rumbled, and his body reacted to it. How did Randy have that effect on him? 'I don't know what I want anymore.' Punk was numb. His voice lacked any tone. It was empty. He was officially empty.

Randy stepped back against him. Sweaty chests sliding against the other, warm hands running over Punk's back. 'You want me.'

Punk took a step back, but couldn't get far as the wall caged him in. He couldn't even manage words. He just shook his head vociferously. He didn't want Randy Orton. He could never want Randy Orton. And with every single shake of the head, a superior voice told him he did. He so fucking did.

Orton leant in close again. Remaining silent for what felt like minutes, but in reality could have been no more than seconds before crushing Punk's psyche further. 'Your erection says otherwise.'

Punk glanced down the miniscule gap between his body and his captor. Because that's what he felt Randy was right now. His captor. He had been captured by the Apex Predator and there was no freedom insight. He knew he was hard. He had been since Randy's lips first met his in the most mind numbing and deliciously violent kiss he had ever experienced.

He couldn't deny anything. His body spoke the truth. You can't lie when your body tells the true story. Betrayed by his own body.

Punk groaned as Randy's hand dipped inside his trunks and for the first time a man took a skin on skin hold of his penis. Punk bit down on his lip to stifle a moan. It felt good. So good. He wanted more. So much more. He turned his head toward Orton and he got irreversibly lost in the beauty of the blue ocean that stretched out before him.

Lust dazed green orbs, with dilated pupils fell upon him and Orton knew he was drawing ever closer to regaining his rightful spot in the company. He sent Punk a smouldering look as he ran a single digit up the entire length of Punk's aching shaft before removing his hand free from the black and green trunks.

With no further actions or words the teasing predator turned and headed out the door without looking back.

Punk took a breath, oxygen rushing back into his body as it dawned on him that he hadn't taken a breath for nearly a minute. His body had tingles. From head to toe. His dick still rigid in his trunks. He could still feel that strong hand wrapped around the shaft. The blue penetrating gorgeous eyes fixed upon him. That chiselled body flush against his.

_**Fuck!**_

Then there was that kiss. Unforgettable. It was a bruising and demanding kiss, but at the same time insanely spectacular.

CM Punk wanted more. He wanted everything Randy Orton was willing to give him. All that and more.

...

Restless. A memory replayed. Over, and over, and over.

CM Punk's whole body was shaking and trembling with need. He wanted that sinful touch. That breath stealing kiss. He wanted it. He needed it. He couldn't function anymore.

Too much. Suffocating. Drowning. Dying.

Punk's fists punched the mattress and he reached blindly for his cell phone. In a flash the picture Randy sent graced his screen. Punk's breath hitched in his throat. What had he become? Who was he?

He wasn't even sure he cared anymore. Nothing mattered. Everything was a waste. All he needed was one thing.

His dick was already hard in his sweat pants. The sight of Orton's own erection caused even more blood to rush south and Punk's cock twitched and throbbed aching for attention. And Punk finally gave in.

He slipped his hand inside and took a rough hold and pumped furiously. His eyes never stopped. Transfixed. Unbroken. Enthralled. Not even a blink broke the contact between Punk and Orton on his phone.

After less than a minute Punk felt his end approaching. His grip tightened and his wrist worked faster and faster. Quiet whimpers and moans left his lips. His legs starting to fidget as the intensity increased. So close. His teeth bit down on his bottom lip hard. Close. He brought his phone closer, staring intently taking in every detail. Closer and closer. He felt his balls tingle and his dick throb in his palm and a sudden rush. His body convulsed and shuddered as he reached his climax. His cum erupting inside his sweats, his essence dribbling down over his knuckles and fingers.

Punk's hips rested back onto the mattress. His eyes finally breaking the spell. He looked up into the pitch black darkness of his hotel room and only one word was uttered.

_**'Randy.'**_

...

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**Punk is definitely falling into Randy's trap! The poor guy is so mentally tortured. I hope you liked this part, I'm hoping to continue updating each week. **

**P.S. Did everyone see the picture of Punk running with his shorts incredibly low on his hips? WOW! I stared for hours. And drooled...yeah...sexy bastard!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks again for the continued support with this story. I love reading your reviews and your thoughts...keep em coming :)**

**I hope you enjoy chapter 7.**

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Staring into space. Lost in a private world. CM Punk is still unsure of how he got there. A wonderment of if he should turn back, he knows how deadly that the path he is on can be. He's seen it first hand. It can rip lives to shreds without any remorse. A dangerous trap to fall into.

His antagonist haunts him. Trifling with a snake is a battle he was certain to lose, but time and time again those hypnotic eyes take hold and draw him in. Those cobalt blue eyes that sparkle with danger and mystery, yet at the same time they glint with perfect beauty.

With every stare he falls under the spell. With every caress his enchantment grows.

He's on a slippery slope. Many internal battles waged on. A vicious duel between what he knew was right against what felt oh so right.

The snake almost had him in its clutches. It had lured him too his lair, had him cornered in the black abyss of his cave. Even from the shroud of shadows those hypnotic eyes cast their spell and Punk was helpless to it superior power.

Punk knew he was the hunted. A hungry snake on his trail. The predator had decided on its prey and escape didn't seem to be an option. He had been dragged too far. His mind needing to know just what this snake could do. What it was willing to give. What it could inflict.

Punk knew the fangs had already taken a bite. He could feel it. The poison had set in. He was under its influence now. Every decision, and every movement was swayed and controlled. Punk knew he would be defeated. He was weakening. He was desperate. He would succumb.

_**Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.**_

'Hey man, you okay?'

Punk jolted from the dark world in which he had been transported too and thrust back into reality. Although the more days that passed the more the two worlds merged. There really was no escape. No way out.

Kofi Kingston sat beside him with a friendly pat on the back. Punk didn't even hear the Ghanaian enter the room. Just how far had he fallen into the toxic world?

Kofi watched the conflict and confusion display on Punk's features. The Second City Saint seemed distant. Tired. Despondent. 'Punk, you've been acting really strange lately. Are you all right?' Kofi asked with genuine concern.

Punk avoided looking at Kingston, a very real and deep fear that his close friend would find out what was going on in the darkest corners of his mind. He couldn't allow anyone to know that. No one could find out. It was embarrassing. It was a nightmare. One that he couldn't wake up from, no matter how hard or how many times he pinched himself. This was real. Dangerously real.

'I'm fine.' Punk replied doing his best to raise no alarm in his friend.

'Really? You know you can talk to me about anything.' Kofi pushed knowing full well something was plaguing the Second City Saints mind.

'No, I'm all good. I swear.' Punk forced a smile at Kingston before standing and abruptly heading for the door to the locker room leaving his concerned friend behind.

The inquiries were too much to handle. He couldn't stand the prying. The watchful eyes. He was petrified of being rumbled. A dark and shameful secret had to remain locked up and hidden.

The poison seeped deeper and deeper into his muscles and into his bones. He could feel it. It would over throw him any day now and he would be at the snakes mercy to feast upon.

Just as Punk reached the sanctuary of his rental car and away from the bustling arena where eyes seemed to attach to him and not let go until he left their sight his cell phone alerted him to a text message.

_Text received 11.21pm_

_from: Randy Orton_

_You want me. I want you. Come on Straight Edge let me make you feel things you never felt before._

Every single word caused hairs to stand on end and a shiver tremble through every square inch of his body. A breath lodged in Punk's throat. The snake was his drug and he was falling faster and faster and faster...

More toxic poison. Wounded. Infected. Punk felt himself slipping closer into the snakes grasp. He was yielding to The Vipers magnetic charms.

...

Tossing and turning. Toing and froing. Eyes open. Eyes closed. Sat up. Led down. Stood still. Pacing back and forth. Punk was agitated. His mind racing. He was worked up into a frenzy.

The only thing that occupied his conscious was that breath stealing kiss that Randy Orton snuck upon him. He would love to attest that the lip lock was unwelcome and he hated every single second of it, but the truth was he wanted to hold onto Orton and never let go as the Viper skillfully and hotly devoured him.

Punk had been kissed many times before, but never before had he been kissed like that.

The kiss was completely out of his control. He wasn't in the drivers seat, he was just a passenger along for the ride and it turned out to be a ride of a lifetime.

That very fact, along with Randy Orton being the very real definition of a man made the experience all the more potent for CM Punk. He harboured no sexual desire for any male before, and then along comes a whirlwind in the form of a coiled Viper. A relentless snake that keeps interjecting himself into the Second City Saint's life.

Orton had wormed his way more and more into Punk's life over the past few weeks, and he had burrowed so far into the Chicagoans mind that the man couldn't operate without Orton interrupting his thoughts and dreams. Too many assaults had weakened his resolve. His psyche now fragile. All he could hear was Orton's deep rumbling tone. All he could see was bronzed skin wrapped around bulging muscles. Blue eyes that glimmered with sex and danger. A strong and firm hand fisting a thick, long and pulsating penis.

Punk had seen all that there was to see of the Apex Predator. Orton had paraded around for him to see every tantalising inch of his body, and despite seeing it all already Punk wanted to see it over and over again.

Hell, he wanted to do more than see it. He wanted to take the next step and touch it. To feel the taut muscles. The soft skin. The vicious tongue. The impressive dick. He wanted that body against his. He wanted that body to make him feel things he had never felt before. Just like Orton had promised he could. Alarmingly Punk believed wholeheartedly that the Viper could make him feel on top of the world.

He knew it and he wanted nothing more than to experience it.

Punk knew he was living dangerously, you don't play with a vicious predator, but the thrill that Orton brought out in him made the fear pale in comparison.

He clambered for his cell phone and without a second guess he fired off a text to the Apex Predator.

_Text received 12.49am_

_from: CM Punk_

_I give up. Room 609._

Punk's nerves frayed. He could feel his body sweat profusely. His knees trembling. His legs dancing with nervous energy as he perched on the edge of the bed.

Then it arrived. Then _**he **_arrived.

As soon as the knock sounded he sprung to his feet and rushed to the door. In a flash Orton was inside kicking the door shut with a bang and caging Punk between his body and the nearby wall. Punk's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wild with a combination of desire and fear.

With no preamble whatsoever Randy kissed him robbing Punk of oxygen as his talented tongue surged into the Straight Edge Superstars mouth. Punk was rocked by the forceful nature. Orton certainly wasn't gentle or tender.

Punk moaned the sound getting lost as their kiss deepened as Randy deftly worked on unbuckling the belt on Punk's jeans. Thoughts rushed Punk's brain as he heard the zipper and subsequently felt his jeans fall from his hips, which were swiftly followed by his boxers. Randy smirked against his lips, Punk could feel it. He could see it clear as day in his minds eye. And he knew full well what Orton was so smug about, that being Punk's dick which was painfully and achingly hard and begging for attention.

Long fingers curled around the shaft just below the head and teasingly ran down the length with little friction. Randy pressed his forehead against Punk's and his gazed fired at the WWE Champion. 'Open your eyes.'

Punk didn't dare. If he opened his eyes he would find this was all real. That it was really happening. That he was allowing it to happen. But on Orton's more demanding second command he obeyed.

Blue eyes bored into his and the deep sexy voice rumbled once more. 'Ask nicely, Punk.'

Punk gritted his teeth. The antagonising patronising bastard! The anger he felt at Randy's obnoxious and arrogant personality paled in comparison however to the out of control hunger that he knew Orton could quell.

'Please?' His voice but a whisper.

Randy smiled, the teeth glistening with venom as he devoured Punk's mouth and his hand grasped Punk's manhood firmly and stroked him. Punk felt like he was floating, his whole body numb as he let Randy ravage his body.

Punk had rescinded control and Orton took full advantage. It didn't take long for Punk to reach his limit. He had fought for too long, battled to hard against his true inner desires and now that Orton had been unleashed upon him and he had given into temptation the moment over wrought him and he came embarrassingly quickly whilst clutching to Orton's flexing biceps.

His moans were swallowed up by Orton's ravenous tongue as his body convulsed within the snakes clutches. Randy finally broke the kiss and Punk's head fell back hitting the wall behind with a thud. His finger nails had dug into the tanned bronzed skin of Orton's arms leaving red crescent moons marking the flesh.

Orton ran his index finger up the twitching length of Punk's dick collecting the creamy cum from the crown on the tip of his finger, and for reasons he was sure he would never understand Orton sucked on his finger and surprisingly he enjoyed the taste of Punk dancing on his taste buds.

Punk was shocked at the act he had just witnessed, just barely managing to register it in his post sex clouded brain. He closed his eyes, tired from his emphatic climax and slumped down the wall until he was seated. His eyes remained shut. He had never felt so utterly relaxed and calm before. A stillness over took him. A weight relieved from his tired shoulders. Peaceful. Tranquil. Finally satiated.

A deep guttural moan from Randy soon garnered Punk's attention, his colour infused vision depleted and he could finally see clearly, and right in front of his face loomed Orton, his large hand working at a brisk pace over his cock.

Punk gulped, his heart pounding in its bone prison as there was a miniscule distance between his face and the leaking tip of Orton's impressive dick. Punk's eyes were transfixed as a pearly bead of pre-cum dribbled from the engorged purple head and slowly ran down the thick shaft before being swept up in Orton's motions as he jerked himself off.

The smell of Orton's arousal filtered into Punk's nostrils, it was intoxicating. His vision briefly distorted as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. A salacious moan came from the man who stood tall above him and even that made Punk's head swim. He was battling the urge to reach out, to take over from Orton, or to be even bolder and taste the deliciously alluring flavour that was already reeking havoc on his senses.

His eyes fluttered as Orton ran his palm over his hair and clutched onto the short strands as best as he could as he bit on his lip feeling his ending coming near. Randy's eyes finally opened and cast downward, the sight of his rigid dick mere centimetres from Punk's mouth increased his arousal ten fold and he let out a mighty growl as his sac tightened, the thick shaft throbbing and pulsating. He grabbed Punk's hair painfully tighter keeping him stationary and pinned to the wall as he road the wave to a mind numbing orgasm.

His blue eyes turned electric and collided with lust addled green and his dick twitched violently as he unloaded. He pointed his erection, the tip narrowly avoiding Punk's nose as he erupted. Thick creamy spurts of cum unloaded onto Punk's face, and Randy's smirk grew as he saw and felt The Second City Saint not even try and move from getting covered. Even if Punk had tried to escape or evade it Orton already knew he wouldn't allow him to. He held him in his rightful place. Beneath him.

Humiliating Punk in that manner was an added bonus point in the game he was already playing and giving CM Punk a facial boosted the already inflated and out of control ego of the Apex Predator.

Randy grunted as the force of his orgasm waned and just as an exclamation point he nudged Punk's cheek with the head of his cock smearing more cum onto the WWE Champion's features. Punk was covered. His forehead, his left eye, his cheek, his beard, his chin all dripping with Randy Orton's essence.

Randy was pleased with the colossal progress he had made that night and he dared to look back over his shoulder at the sparkling title that would be in his grasp soon. Punk was losing his grip on the prized possession and once he did Orton would catch it as soon as it fell.

Orton quickly tucked his half hard member back into his shorts and stepped away uncaging Punk. Punk's eyes crept open and the lust had vanished. There was a fire in them now, a fire born of anger.

'You fucking asshole!' Punk felt humiliated. He felt ashamed. How had he let this happen? How had he allowed Orton to do that? He was appalled.

Orton meanwhile chuckled with his patented arrogance. 'Don't act like you didn't love every moment of it, Punk. We both know you'll be back for more. It's a guarantee. That's what addiction is all about.'

The Viper didn't hang around for a impassioned Punk to stand and levy insults or to proclaim determination not to fold to his addiction, instead he made a swift exit, but not before taking one more satisfied and pleased look back at the semi naked CM Punk. And most pleasing sight of all was the erection that stood proudly rigid between Punk's outstretched legs.

Punk watched the door slam shut and he breathed a sigh of relief at being left in solitude. But now alone he couldn't hide from the evidence of what he had participated in. What he had _**willingly **_participated in.

What made him give in? Why did he give in? How could he be so weak? How could he be so out of control?

Orton had him hypnotised. Orton had him under a spell. Now he was left to comprehend the ramifications of his actions. He wanted desperately to stand tall and strong and pledge that he wouldn't allow it to happen again, but deep down in the bottom of his heart he was already craving for his next fix. His rock hard cock told the real story of what he wanted. Of what he needed.

He closed his eyes tightly, battling with himself and eventually he couldn't withstand the pressure any longer, his addiction defeating him again as his tongue emerged and lapped at the remnants and dribbles of Orton's cum at the corner of his mouth salivating at the delicious taste instantly needing more.

CM Punk craved Randy Orton. The snake had struck with force. The venom had taken him.

...

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**OMG! Punk gave in! But will he let it happen again? Will he fall even further? Will Randy get the WWE title like he so badly wants?**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter, life has been hectic recently. But it's finally here. Thank you for the continued support with the reviews, faves and follows. You're all awesome!**

**How amazing was CM Punk vs Lesnar? I obviously wanted Punk to win, but I'm not at all upset that he didn't. I honestly think that is the match of the year so far. Punk has put on so many great bouts this year; Punk/Taker, Punk/Cena, Punk/Jericho on Raw and Payback. The guy is the best in the company right now. And the BEST IN THE WORLD! :P**

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Lethal poison.

That is what Randy Orton prides himself on being. He works his way into your system, he weakens you both physically and mentally before finally shutting your body down. Every decision made is tainted. Not truly yours. It's his. You're entirely under his spell.

Randy knew that was the case when it came to his latest victim the WWE champion CM Punk.

The torturous sexual advances that he made toward the Second City Saint had reaped rewards and little by little the Apex Predator saw CM Punk slipping further and further into a dangerous addiction.

And nothing was more dangerous than Randy Orton.

It gave Orton nothing but a sick sense of pleasure to see the man slowly fall apart. The cracks had started to show. Day by day those cracks got bigger, and they got wider until they resembled the size of canyons. Everything was crumbling down around Punk, and he was so blinded by his addiction he couldn't even see it.

Such a masterpiece to witness. Such a masterpiece to create.

CM Punk was a hairs breadth away from losing it all, and the twisted, calculating and cold Viper was waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces and step right back into the spotlight. Front and centre.

Right from the start he had ambushed CM Punk. The man had no inkling it was coming or what awaited him. Once he had realised the depth of danger he was immersed in he was already to far gone into addiction to stop it.

Everything had worked to perfection.

Initially Orton had a fear that the Straight Edge Superstar would be harder to break than originally thought, after all Punk's primary characteristics was his self control, stubborn nature and self assuredness. But bit by bit Randy had weakened him and now CM Punk was a shell of the man that he once was.

Orton harboured no regret at the destruction and havoc he was causing in Punk's life. In his twisted and maniacal head this was all richly deserved. This was a long time coming. In fact this was long overdue.

Now his plan was at a critical juncture. Randy couldn't ease up now. He couldn't relent. He had to keep the pressure on. He had been nothing but tenacious in his pursuit of CM Punk. He had to be. He couldn't ever underestimate CM Punk. As much as he loathed the man he couldn't deny the WWE champion had a hell of a lot of fortitude.

The barriers Orton had torn down in Punk during his quest had took a lot of effort. Truthfully Orton himself was feeling the effects. He would all to often find himself awake all night, never being able to switch off and rest. Too busy plotting. Too occupied planning his next attack. His mind was constantly thinking of CM Punk.

During the course of sending Punk spiralling into addiction Orton himself had found himself in uncharted waters just like his prey. Randy had crossed his own boundaries in his quest to take the Chicagoan down. Engaging in physical intimacy with a male was such a foreign experience, yet he found it to be not all that unwelcome. It wasn't horrendous by and stretch of the imagination. He thought he would struggle to get hard, let alone climax, yet both had happened without any hint of trouble. His limited sexual encounters with Punk were...enjoyable. Sort of...Maybe...

But that's irrelevant. All that mattered to Randy Orton was making sure CM Punk craved more of him. Making him need that next fix. Making him need that next hit. Just so the Viper could dutifully supply.

...

Sleep had never been so hard to come by, and coming from a chronic insomniac that was alarming. No matter how hard Punk had tried he couldn't attain a minute of rest. His mind was too active. Too busy. It was to preoccupied with the diabolical Viper, how Orton made him feel and just how much control the snake held over him.

Punk was in turmoil. He had tried to forget and bury what Randy had done to him. What he had allowed Randy to do to him. But every single time his head would betray him, every time his eyes closed flashes of their encounter would be replayed and then his body would join in with the betrayal and without knowing how it happened Punk would find himself sprawled on his bed with a tight fist around his shaft and pools of cum dotted over his stomach and chest.

He was in a nightmare where he couldn't wake up from.

In his heart he knew he shouldn't let Orton near him again, even his head agreed on that. Orton was unquestionably bad for him and leading him on a dangerous path. But with that knowledge also came unadulterated lust. Hunger. A carnal need. And the only thing in the entire world that could satiate his appetite was Randy Orton.

Weary eyes looked on as the receptionist checked him out of the hotel. The woman was frightfully cheery. Punk hated that. His misery didn't want to have happiness shoved in its face. Punk ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his tired stinging eyes wishing to find some energy in reserve for Raw that night.

'I can put a smile on your face.' Punk turned to see the perennially lurking Viper approach the desk with his luggage in tow. 'Rough night, Punk?'

Punk let out an exasperated sigh. The last thing he needed was Orton there. All tease and temptation.

'Did someone keep you awake?' Randy goaded, knowing full well he was the cause.

A smug grin graced Punk's vision as he looked at the snake. 'Shut up.' Punk whispered through gritted teeth. The last thing he needed was to alert strangers toward his attraction to Orton.

Punk's breath turned sharp. His heart thudded. His stomach turned into knots. Orton's presence was too much. There were too many eyes on him. People would see. People would read him. The would know of his shameful secret.

Randy stepped closer. 'You look a little strung out there, Punk. Just say the word and I can make all that go away. I can make you feel on top of the world.'

Orton's inflated ego made Punk's anger seer in his veins and his fists clenched at his side. Luckily the Second City Saint was saved by the receptionist who informed him he had successfully checked out and free to leave. After being thanked for his custom, Punk gathered his things together and turned ready to escape and not look back.

However, instead he paused. He hid from Orton's gaze, prefering to stare at his shoes. He'd got lost in the Vipers hypnotic blue eyes too many times already, but he quickly declared, 'It won't happen again. Not ever.'

Punk then took off at the speed of a bullet leaving Orton behind, but still the smug smile was all over the snakes features.

...

Since his unscheduled meeting with the Apex Predator at the hotel that morning and his strength in refusing Orton's advances Punk's morale had taken an upwards turn. He felt his determination increase. He was going to beat this. He was going to beat Randy Orton. There was one thing CM Punk would never be, and that was an addict!

Punk was already dressed in his ring gear with a hoodie covering his upper body. Raw was nearing the end of its second hour, but the WWE champions segment wouldn't occur until the very end of the three hour broadcast.

Punk walked at a brisk pace back to the locker room, but as he neared the end of the corridor a hand clasped over his mouth and a strong arm wrapped around his midsection and dragged him into darkness. He tried to fight and push the attacker from his body, but his effort was in vain. He felt two hands push at his back with a mighty force sending him stumbling forward and deeper into the pitch black dark.

The light from the corridor disappeared with a slam of the door. The darkness reigned, until the light flickered on and the room was bathed in a bright light. Punk shielded his eyes, while simultaneously trying to identify his captor, although taking in recent events he had a damn good guess as to who it was already.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the beaming light overhead. His silent guess was absolutely correct as there stood casually leaning up against the door stood Randy Orton.

Punk avoided eye contact and surveyed the room. Shelves full of chemicals and cleaning products, mops and brooms, along with buckets and a vacuum cleaner. Orton had dragged him into a supply closet?

Punk knew what Orton wanted. He knew what could easily happen, and the swell of determination inside rose. He strode confidently to the door, reaching past Orton as he grabbed the handle.

Before he could even try to open the door though his hand was ripped away and the Viper forced him to turn around and then he slammed him back first into the heavy wooden panel.

Punk's eyes morphed into a cutting glare, but Randy's lips curled into a twisted smile in response.

'Let me go.' Punk said sternly.

'Why are you still fighting this, Punk? Why are you fighting me?' Randy asked as his hands travelled down Punk's sides before resting on his slender hips.

'I don't want this. I don't want you.' Punk stated.

Lies are easily told. But they're not so easily believed. Randy lunged forward, his face mere inches from Punk's. 'You're eyes tell the truth. They tell me. They always tell me.'

Punk snapped his head to the side, wanting desperately to avoid the hypnotic eyes of the snake.

'Control is a cage, Punk. Let it go and you can be free to revel in chaos. With me.'

Such enticing words. To stop fighting. To give in to all his deepest vices...

Punk slowly rotated his head back to face down Orton and the moment their gazes locked he knew he was staring into oblivion. Lips crashed onto his as fingers tightened and dug into his hip bones. Punk's eyes fluttered shut and he threw in the towel as he kissed Orton back. His hands twitched by his sides before joining the action as he clawed and clutched at the Vipers back. A tongue swept into his mouth and he moaned into the impassioned embrace as his own tongue surged forward creating a perfect synergy with the Apex Predator.

Punk could already feel the lust rush around his body like poison as all the blood relocated south. He could feel his trunks tighten as his flaccid dick started to rise and thicken in the confines of the fabric.

Randy sucked on his tongue and nibbled at his bottom lip and the metal that resided there before casting his gaze downward. Punk's eyes followed. Once Orton was sure the Second City Saint was watching his right hand slid from Punk's hip and crept along the join of where Punk's wrestling gear met the smooth skin of his pelvis.

Before Punk could object or try to discourage him Orton snaked his hand inside and curled his fingers around Punk's erection. The WWE champion shuddered at the touch. He knew he shouldn't allow this. He knew he was teetering on the brink. Yet once Randy's fist started to travel up and down his length all his worries and cares evaporated and he was content to enjoy the ecstasy in which the snake delivered.

Punk's head rolled back onto his shoulders, his body slumped back into the door as Randy worked over his dick at a faster rate. With every upstroke Orton would twist once he neared the bulbous purple head and he would swipe his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-cum that had emerged.

Punk bit down on his lip trying to withhold the moans that threatened to fall from his lips. His dick had never felt so painfully hard. He had never needed to cum so badly in his entire life. Fuck he wanted this. He needed this. He couldn't live without this. Punk ran his hands through his hair clinging onto the short strands almost painfully as finally Orton succeeded in tearing a moan from deep within the Chicago natives throat.

More soon followed as the Vipers fangs sunk into his flesh where his shoulder met his neck and then kisses were peppered up his stubbled neck and jaw until his lips were reclaimed in a breath stealing kiss.

Randy's pace never faltered and he couldn't help the smug satisfaction as he felt Punk gently rocking his hips into his fist. He had Punk exactly where he wanted him. Orton's own aching erection would have to wait, he had more important business to attend to and that was pushing Punk even further into the world of addiction.

Punk's arms wrapped around Randy's back and he pulled his lips from the Viper, but he ensured Orton stayed close as he buried his head into Orton's neck. Quiet moans turned louder and Randy could feel Punk's thick throbbing shaft pulsate as Punk reached his climax. Thick creamy spurts of cum erupted from the purple head, covering Orton's fingers and coated the inside of Punk's Chicago flagged trunks.

Then Orton heard the delightful whimper in his ear from his prey. 'Feels so good. Fuck.'

Randy's ice cold glare and patented smirk shone brightly. Nearing ever closer to the Golden treasure. He stepped back, retracting his hand from Punk's trunks. Punk was a dazed mess as he melted back into the door. Randy wiped his hand on Punk's hoodie ridding himself of the Straight Edge Superstars semen.

Orton pushed Punk further along the wall so he could open the door, he looked at Punk with a victorious gleam in his eyes. He could envisage the WWE title around his waist clearer than ever before.

Punk slid down the wall until his ass met the cold concrete. Randy crouched beside him. 'Feel better now?' Unfocussed and glazed over green eyes meandered over his face. Punk was still on his high. Randy laughed evilly. 'Come to my hotel room tonight?'

'No.' Punk mumbled as his head lolled from side to side.

'Yes.'

'No.'

Randy wasn't interested in arguing. He wouldn't take no for an answer. Besides he knew it was a guarantee. He stood confidently and walked out of the supply closet, but not before giving Punk some vital information that he undoubtedly would crave for later that night.

'Room 711.'

...

Pacing back and forth. Left to right. Right to left. Three golden numbers took hold of his gaze that were screwed onto the mahogany door.

**711.**

Punk stared at the door eager to knock. He needed Orton's sinful touch. He wanted and needed it so damn much. Ever since the Apex Predator left him in the supply closet hours earlier his mind had been clogged up with Randy Orton.

Punk was lost. He was unfocussed. His head was a mess.

Even during his bout with Dolph Ziggler he had a lack of concentration. In fact his match that night had been awful. He made a catalogue of errors and he knew he was raising concerns with management. Management that were waiting for any excuse to tear him down. They were never his biggest fans. The moment he stepped foot backstage after Raw concluded he was met with unimpressed glances and disappointed shakes of heads. But he didn't give a single fuck. All he wanted was to feel that euphoria again. To feel like he was floating and that his body was a weightless mass.

**711.**

No more hesitation. He knocked on the door. He could feel his legs trembling. His palms sweating. His mouth ran dry. The sheer anticipation was overwhelming. The door swung open and the sight that greeted him was one to truly behold. Stood in nothing but jeans that were resting ever so low on his well defined hips was Randy Orton.

Punk choked on his breath as it lodged in his throat. His whole body tingled with electricity.

'I knew you would come.' Orton held the door open, an invitation to come inside.

There wasn't a second of hesitation as Punk rushed inside, kicking the door closed. He was ready and gagging to have another tantalising fix. He needed a hit. Just one more time.

CM Punk was learning quickly that the forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest.

...

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**Punk is falling deeper and deeper. And he knows it. How much further can he fall? And will Orton's plan finally reach its conclusion with him as WWE Champion? I hope you're enjoying the ride so far, more is to come :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for the reviews, follows and favourites they make me smile :D**

**Did anyone else have mixed feelings when it came to the segment with Heyman and Punk on Raw? I felt so bad for Punk, all those kendo shots looked painful. The marks on his back looked brutal. But at the same time having CM Punk handcuffed was hot. All hot and sweaty...face down and ass up...I'll stop now :P It was some seriously brutal sexy shit. Damn you CM Punk obsession!**

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The snake struck fast and with precision, his body taking hold of Punk's with a firm grip. A grip tight enough to silently warn 'You are not going anywhere'. Not that CM Punk wanted to. Apprehension may have trickled in, but his body was crying out for the Vipers touch. Punk was a slave to his base desires now. And he desired that warm and hard muscular body, the smooth bronzed skin, the soft succulent lips that belonged to the predator that hunted him.

Punk was pushed onto the bed in the centre of the room and the Viper cocked his head and surveyed the prey he had been chasing for the last two months. That familiar arrogant grin made its appearance as Orton laid his eyes on the obvious erection straining inside Punk's shorts. Randy's tongue flicked out and ran along his bottom lip, his own hardness confined in his jeans.

Punk's breath lodged in his throat as bright blue eyes sparkled into his own and if he didn't feel trapped before he did now as Orton's heated stare froze him. Punk felt no fear anymore. He felt no danger. He just wanted Orton to touch him. He wanted to touch Orton. He needed so damn bad to stop the knots from tightening in his stomach, and to quell the trembles that wracked his body.

His fingers clawed at the crisp white sheets beneath him as he watched transfixed as Orton tantalisingly slowly undid his belt buckle. The button followed. Then the zip crawled down, and more and more of Orton's glorious body came into view in torturous slow motion. Punk's mouth ran dry as the zip stopped just shy of revealing Orton in all his impressive glory and Punk felt consumed with wanton uncontrollable need to finish the job and tear the jeans from Randy's body.

Before he could make a move however, the snake slithered and joined him on the bed. Orton claimed the Second City Saints mouth in a kiss. Punk was sure he heard the Viper hiss as their tongues battled. Two hands took a rough hold of Punk's tee-shirt and quickly pulled it over the Chicagoans head and threw it without care to the hotel room floor.

Large palms placed on Punk's heaving chest, and it brought pleasure to the Vipers black heart to feel Punk's heart thudding at a frenzied pace beneath his right palm. Orton sat back, situated between Punk's legs. He knew Punk had fallen deep, he was addicted to him for sure. He darted forward and his lips kissed each letter that was inscribed on Punk's belly. A sinister smirk hidden from Punk's view as Orton took greater pleasure in knowing that CM Punk was no longer straight edge. He had seen to that.

Punk brought a hand to Orton's head, cradling the skull in his palm as his thumb stroked through the short hair. A single finger embarked on a journey from Punk's sac up his thick. long shaft up to the tip where a wet spot had formed in his shorts.

Punk grunted, desperate to have more. He needed skin on skin contact. He needed Orton's hard body against his whilst his mouth devoured him. He wanted the snake coiled around him from head to toe and banish all the voices running around in his head so all that was left was the euphoric ecstasy that only Randy Orton could bring to his life.

Both of the Apex Predators hands ran down Punk's muscular thighs and past the knee toward the ankle. He would rid Punk of his footwear and socks so that all that remained was Punk's shorts and Randy's jeans. Punk struggled to withstand the wait and unusually Punk didn't fight his urges like he forced himself to do for the last two months, instead he folded. Any reluctance fell like a brittle tree in the wind as he actually pleaded.

'Randy, please...' Punk was unsure of how to ask. Or what to ask so his voice trailed off, but he could see delight in the Vipers eyes at the hunger and passion he displayed.

In a flash fingers hooked into the waistband of Punk's shorts and tugged them down dragging Punk with them from the sheer force. They succumbed and the article of clothing joined the rest on the floor. Punk was now at the foot of the bed and Orton's shadow fell over him. The edges of Orton's frame were bathed in light making him almost glow. Punk was overwhelmed, his dick throbbed and pearly beads of pre-cum emerged from the mushroom head and ran down the shaft and onto his stomach.

Punk felt overtaken with lust, he felt possessed as he sat up, his legs were spread wide open as Orton stood between them, while Punk's feet now planted firmly on the carpet. He remained seated on the edge of the bed, his face at Orton's navel. His lips kissed the toned abdonimals and he shut his eyes as his tongue swirled around Orton's belly button. Two forceful hands gripped onto his hair and Punk found he liked the forceful nature that Orton carried.

Punk busied his own hands as they found the waistband of Orton's jeans. Slowly he lowered them down Randy's thick thighs as kisses rained down over Orton's belly. With one final tug Orton's dick sprung free hitting Punk's chest with a slap. Punk licked a wet stripe up from Orton's belly button as high as he could go from his current position. Once his tongue left Orton's skin green eyes cast northward and Punk's whole body shook as he was greeted with vibrant blue eyes staring right down at him.

The Second City Saint smiled and without hesitancy he bowed his head and whilst keeping his gaze locked to Orton's his tongue swiped at the leaking head of Orton's cock. That time definitely heard a hiss from the Viper. The fingers in his hair twisted painfully pulling strands out from the roots. The pain was marginal and fleeting and it never slowed Punk's intentions as he took the pulsating head of Orton's dick into his mouth sucked on it tasting the salty pre-cum. Punk relished the taste and engulfed more of the impressive length into his warm and moist mouth.

Orton couldn't help himself as he started to move his hips gently in time with Punk's movements. Punk's mouth was driving him crazy and his eyes continually rolled back into his skull every time Punk would pull back he would swirl his tongue around the crown of his dick. What made the experience even more tremendous was that Punk did it willingly. Orton had made no suggestion, Punk had made the decision himself. The enormity of that was not lost on the calculating Viper. His body was tingling and shuddering with arousal. He was getting a real kick out of Punk's emboldened actions and a silent wonderment of just how far was Punk willing to go that night crossed his mind.

He let Punk work on his dick for another minute before putting him to the test. The Viper knew exactly what destination he wanted to arrive at, but he had doubts that Punk was ready for that journey. Nevertheless it was worth a try.

Rewards come to those who dare to try.

Orton released his grip on Punk's hair and his palm caressed over Punk's temple down to his jaw. He lifted the WWE champions chin and the sight of his saliva coated shaft falling free from Punk's swollen and glistening lips was a sight that he was sure would be burned into his memory for eternity.

CM Punk's vision blurred as he tried to focus on Orton stood above him, but the Viper was swaying. Punk licked at his lips desperate for any remnants of the taste of Orton's dick. He felt a hand push at his chest and he fell slowly backwards onto the mattress, his head lolled and the bright light directly above his head hurt his eyes. Nibbles and bites travelled from his ear, to his lips, to his jaw and neck, in conjunction with bruising fingers running over every dent and ridge of his rib cage and chest.

Punk's eyes slipped shut as his nipples were individually sucked on one after the other turning them into hard nubs. Punk felt as if he were paralysed. His body melted into the bed and he degenerated to a boneless mass. He felt Randy's manhood brush against his and a disembodied voice, that could have been and most likely was his, let out a guttural moan.

The world was slipping away. All that made up the universe was Orton's and his own bodies as they moved and touched in the most erotic way. A perfect motion. Flawless synergy.

Punk felt his thighs widen, large hands splayed and pushed them apart even wider. Punk knew by now those hands belonged to Randy he was accustomed to them now. They were stored in his memory bank. He craved their touch now.

Randy's lips were now back to his and the snakes tongue swept along his. He heard a whimper, that got hurriedly drowned out by their intense kiss. They broke apart and Randy's forehead rested against his. Punk bit down hard on his lip as he felt the slide and brushing of Orton's dick brushing against his and then grazing his balls. Punk suddenly heard alarm bells. The slick shaft of Randy Orton now rested and gently pushed against his virgin ass.

Punk crashed back to reality. The alarms and sirens guiding him back. The room stopped revolving. His surroundings filtered back into his vision. His body reformed and re-energised as he pushed hard at Orton's muscular chest in a clear signal to back off. Punk's wide eyes blazed in Orton's direction.

'Stop! Nothing goes up my ass.' A taunting smirk told Punk that is exactly what Randy wanted to do to him. 'Not happening.' Punk reiterated with a fixed stare and a stern tone.

Randy relented, he knew it would be a long shot anyway. It was too early, but sooner or later Punk wouldn't fight against it. He would beg for it instead. Randy saw Punk pulling away and recoiling toward the headboard. He could see the conflict marring Punk's face.

Should he stay or should he go?

Randy may not have achieved his goal of fucking CM Punk and driving him fully into addiction, but he was damned sure he wasn't going to allow Punk to leave and board the road to recovery.

He had to act fast. The Viper pounced and his lips crashed into Punk's, he gave the Second City Saint no chance to find his feet in the brutal lip lock before deepening the kiss as his tongue swirled against Punk's.

Punk let out a quiet moan taken aback by Orton's sudden and forceful actions. The frantic panic in his head started to die down and he started to kiss Orton back, however the feeling of escape still lingered. He was on a slippery slope. He knew that. He knew what was happening. He had seen addiction many times in his life. He never thought for a second he would be the one in battle with it.

His head went to war with his body over which decision to make, but then Orton rolled his hips and the Apex Predators dick met Punk's, and the feel of that thick hot column of flesh pulsating and twitching alongside his own ended the war and his resistance evaporated.

Randy saw defiance and confusion disappear from the green eyes beneath him and as he pushed his dick against Punk's again he saw Punk return to his state of bliss. Orton sighed with relief. For a moment he thought he had let the WWE championship slip through his fingers and his plan would've all been for naught.

He foolishly pushed Punk too hard too fast and in doing so he almost destroyed the plan he concocted. When he tried to enter Punk it was if a switch went off in the Best in the Worlds brain and realisation dawned on him of the severity of the situation he found himself in. Just how much was in jeopardy. It was a mistake that almost cost Orton everything. He wouldn't make that mistake a second time. He had come to damn far to screw it up when he was so close to reclaiming what was rightfully his.

Randy's hands wrapped around both erections and he pushed through the fist creating the most delicious friction. The movement aided by the copious amount of pre-cum beading at the tips of both men's shafts.

Punk's head arched back into the pillow, his hips instinctively pushing up for more contact. Feeling the slick head of Randy's thick cock run from the base of his own all the way up to the tip sent shudders rippling through his body and Punk moaned in sweet satisfaction. He raised a leg, curling it around Orton's slender waist bringing the Viper closer. Punk searched and found Orton's lips as their sweat covered chests slid together as gracefully as their rock hard dicks.

Punk grunted every time the engorged head of Randy's dick kissed the sensitive crown of his own and he could feel a warmth spread throughout his body indicating he was close. Punk's hands rested idly at his sides sprung to life as his moans got louder and deeper. Fingers dug into Orton's hip bones, they were swept up in the rhythm of Orton's thrusts.

Randy looked down to see a flush spreading up from Punk's neck to his cheeks. A sheen of sweat over his brow. Teeth chewing on his bottom lip, the metal glimmering and flashing in the light. Delectable whimpers were music to Randy's ears.

Then he got lost. His heart coming to an abrupt stop.

Punk's wide lust induced eyes fixated on him. Eyes glazed. Pupils dilated in so much arousal that the barest ring of beautiful green could be seen.

Randy had a silent thought; _'You are so gorgeous.'_

He came ever so close to losing control and uttering the words aloud, but he managed to swallow the words back down. He was horrified at what he felt. But luckily he didn't dwell as his focus was taken by Punk as he let out a ragged cry as he reached his climax.

Punk pushed up toward Randy's lithe body, his leg creating the opposite force as he pulled Orton tighter on top of him. A thick stream of cum shot onto Punk's belly and dribbled down his shaft and the feeling of the hot, thick and sticky substance lubricating his own cock as he still glided against the WWE champion sent Randy over the edge and crashing into his own orgasm.

He buried his head in the crook of Punk's neck and erupted over Punk coating his belly with a mixture of their semen. He felt Punk's arms encircle his shoulders, both feet running up and down the back of his legs. Once spent and his vision no longer distorted Orton pulled away from the embrace and collapsed to the side of his prey.

Heavy breathing soon reverted back to calm breaths. The heavy scent of sex hung heavy in the air. Randy looked across to see the shattered and dishevelled CM Punk still on his high. Lips curled slightly upward as it was confirmed in no uncertain terms that Punk was still very much in the midst of addiction. And soon he would descend even further into the bleak, perishing hell that is addiction.

For now though Orton needed Punk to be eager and clamouring for more. Randy got up from the bed, he padded around the room searching for clothing and once he located the correct items he threw them straight at Punk.

Punk was startled from his post coital glow as his shorts and shirt landed on his chest. He looked to Orton questioningly.

'Get dressed and leave.' Randy answered him with a cold tone before turning and disappearing into the bathroom. Randy blew out a deep breath intent on playing more mind games. His plan consisted of old methodology; treat them mean to keep them keen.

Acting so cold would show Punk that he wasn't interested in him. He was just taking pleasure from a willing slave. And Punk would learn that to attain more of the drug that he needed he would have to go to Orton to get it. Randy was his enabler. Randy was his dealer. Randy was his drug.

A despondent Punk dressed in a hurry, wiping the stickiness on his stomach on the inside of his shirt as he put his clothes back on. Punk could already feel the withdrawals seeping back in. He was torn on whether to leave without a word, or to ask Randy if there would be a next time. He wandered over to the door, and turned back to see Orton emerge in the shadow of the bathroom doorway.

'Close the door on the way out.' Randy replied with that ice cold tone.

Punk took one last lingering glance at the body that turned him on beyond belief, that one final fix should hopefully get him through the next day. He left room 711 and rushed back to his own dodging questioning glances from other guests in the hotel. Once back safely inside his own room and away from prying eyes Punk crashed straight onto the bed.

Flashes of his encounter with Randy already etched into his memory replayed. Punk could still smell Orton's scent in his nostrils. It was all over him. He could still feel Randy's sticky essence on his stomach. Punk thrashed his head from side to side as he felt his penis reawaken and thicken in his shorts.

_**Fuck!**_

What had Randy Orton turned him into? How far would he let himself fall? Just how far would he allow Orton to go in satisfying him? He now knew what Randy wanted. The Apex Predator wanted to fuck him! And startlingly he found himself in that moment not giving a damn about how far he fell into his addiction to the Viper, because he learnt that he wanted, no he needed whatever Randy was willingly to give him.

CM Punk knew deep down that Randy Orton was the worse thing for him, yet he was undeniably the thing that CM Punk craved above all else.

Addiction in all its ugly glory.

...

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**OMG, will Punk actually allow Randy to go that far?! How much further can Punk actually fall? He craves Randy so badly, and all Randy sees is the WWE title getting closer and closer. Poor Punk is totally and utterly addicted!**

**I hope you enjoyed it :) And if you feel like some more Punkton, I've posted a new one-shot revolving around Punk's current feud with Heyman...check it out if you want!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to all the favourites, follows and reviews it makes me so happy :D **

**Here is chapter 10! And I think it was my favourite chapter to write so far :)**

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The fire had almost burnt out. Only the tiniest flicker of defiance remained, and even that would soon be extinguished. Week by week. Day by day. Randy Orton had doused the flames with his carefully constructed plan to break CM Punk to the point of no return. He had driven him to addiction, and he had seen that addiction grow and spin further out of control and take over CM Punk's life.

It was a sight to behold, and it warmed the Viper's black heart to know he was inching ever closer to the crowning jewel of the WWE. The WWE championship would soon be around his waist once again.

The Straight Edge Superstar was unmistakably an addict, and Randy Orton was his vice. His carefully crafted idea that he engineered had worked like a charm to the point of Punk inviting him to his room. To the point of Mr. Straight Edge willingly showing up at his door in the middle of the night eager for more. CM Punk was a drug addict and Randy Orton was his enabler.

Now that Punk had descended into that dark and dangerous world all Orton needed now was for Vince McMahon to realise how Punk was off his game. Already Punk's ring and promo work appeared laboured and sluggish. Hushed whispers of CM Punk losing his minus touch had travelled around the locker room and beyond.

Meanwhile, Randy Orton made sure he brought out his best in every match, and he had been praised for his work as of late. He was in the prime position to take CM Punk's spot; the spot that Randy was making sure would be vacant.

He had to keep up the pressure at this critical time. There was no chance of giving Punk a reprieve. In fact he wanted to drive the man even further into a desperate and disastrous addiction. He already concocted a plan.

Certain words had rung in the Viper's ears for the last week.

_**'Nothing goes up my ass!'**_

Those exact words spilled from Punk's lips during one of their latest encounters. Words that would soon be crushed and stamped into history, because Randy Orton's next cruel and sick objective was to fuck CM Punk irreversibly into being fully and completely addicted to him!

Randy was full of confidence. His inflated ego so large it would soon burst. Punk may battle against his latest plan in the short term, but it was only a matter of time until he caved in.

It wasn't just a possibility. It was an inevitability.

...

Punk could barely contain his need. He needed a fix. Just a little. Something to stop the trembling, to stop the sweating. Something to stop the nausea, and the vomit from rising up his gullet. He needed Randy Orton now. He needed what only Randy Orton could give him. Hell, that was an understatement, it was more than a need. He wanted Orton every day now. He wanted that brutal touch. That warm body. That soft skin. That taste. His need had morphed into greed.

He watched the object of his desire from across the room. An urge to race over there and gain the hit he so badly craved rose up in him, he couldn't give a damn to all the witnesses that were there to see his wanton need. He wanted Orton so damn bad. Randy was watching him, intense blue hues honed in. Punk was enthralled.

Whenever Randy walked into a room he commanded the Second City Saint's attention. Punk had tunnel vision when it came to the Apex Predator. He was all that mattered. Screw his career, his friends, his WWE Championship. His whole life revolved and centered around the master manipulator Randy Orton.

The Viper broke eye contact as he stood up and left the locker room. Like a puppet under Orton's control Punk rose to his feet intent on following Randy. A hand touched his shoulder knocking him out of his trance.

A concerned Kofi Kingston was beside him then dragging him along to a secluded corner of the room. 'What the hell is going on? And don't even try to deny that there's a problem.' Kofi whispered hoping no one else could hear, yet he kept his tone rough and demanding. 'Punk, you're spaced out all the time. You're pulling away from the guys, you barely even talk to me anymore. What is happening?'

Punk shook his head clearing the fog of Randy Orton from his mind. 'Nothing's happening. I'm all good.' He assured Kofi.

'Don't bullshit me!' Kingston barked, garnering many other superstars attention. 'I'm your friend. I'm your best friend here, right?' Punk nodded in confirmation. 'So talk to me.'

'There's nothing to say. I don't know what it is that you want from me.' Punk replied, starting to get annoyed at Kofi's intervention.

'I want my friend to be straight with me. I'm worried.' Kofi stated.

'There is no need to worry. I'm fine. Punk patted Kingston on the shoulder and made a move to walk away from the interrogation.

'So why have you been fucking up promos left and right? How come you've been a step behind in the ring for the last month or so?' Kofi berated him with the volume increased, and now every pair of eyes in the room were focussed on the two men.

Punk spun back around and crowded Kofi against the wall. 'What the fuck did you just say?'

'You heard me.' Kofi answered defiantly.

Punk guffawed. 'My promos and matches have been fine. Don't you fucking dare tell me my work isn't up to scratch.'

'Truth hurts, huh? You're not yourself, Punk. I'm saying all of this as a friend.' Kofi pleaded, his concern were deep. He had seen his friend degenerate into a wreck and it needed to stop.

All eyes were fixed on that corner of the room. Punk could feel them on him. He knew his work had been suffering, but how dare Kingston confront him like that. Who the fuck was he to talk to him like that?

'Punk, there's been rumblings of them taking the title from you because your work has slipped. They aren't happy. You need to get your head back in the game, man.'

'They aren't taking the championship from me. I haven't heard a damn thing about that!' Punk yelled.

'You know how it works around here. You'd be the last to know.'

'You're lying!' Punk accused.

'Why would I do that?' Kofi defended. 'Punk, you're acting really fucked up and it's freaking me out.'

Punk snapped then and took a rough hold of Kofi's shirt, bunching it up in both fists and slamming his friend hard against the wall. Kofi winced at the blow, but quickly pushed back and in a flash bodies separated Punk from Kingston.

Punk pointed at Kofi, and with an angry glare he claimed; 'You're fucking lying, the title is mine. And I'm fucking fine!'

Cena turned to him, finally releasing Punk as he was one of many guys separating the two wrestlers and halting a fight from breaking out. 'Kofi isn't the only one worried, Punk. You're acting differently. We all see it.'

Punk scoffed. 'Fuck you, Cena! Fuck all of you!' Punk yelled out to the room and rushed out slamming the door shit behind him.

Randy lurked in the shadows and he watched as Punk stomped away from the room. Randy had heard all the commotion. He heard the accusations and heard the arguments. He heard Punk's denial. He heard Punk's reaction to the questioning from his colleagues. It pleased the cold and evil Viper to no end to hear and see CM Punk acting and reacting like a real and true addict.

...

Punk trudged back through the curtain and Cena and Kofi's words were haunting him. They were right. He was off his game. His performance that night had was pitiful. And that's being kind.

The moment he stepped out into the arena and the crowd roared loudly with chants of his name and they screamed loudly along with him as he yelled his patented 'It's clobberin' time!' and 'Best in the World!' he hoped the facade he was valiantly trying to keep up would fool everyone. On the outside he may have looked cool, calm and collected, as if the old CM Punk full of focus and determination had returned, but inside, behind the mask his organs felt twisted up, at any moment he felt like he would puke. He felt unsteady on his feet, his balance off center. The ring was revolving. His vision impaired as he saw double.

He managed to dig deep and navigate his way through early exchanges with John Cena, but as the minutes tick on by his situation got worse. His legs trembled and gave way resulting in an ugly sequence, full of mistiming and miscommunication. In a spot where he was meant to reverse the Attitude Adjustment and land on his feet went haywire as his balance faltered and he landed on his ass. He tripped and stumbled as he tried to ascend to the top rope for his signature Randy Savage esque elbow drop.

The match was falling apart and he knew it. He was aware more questions would be fired his way. The in ring chemistry between Cena and himself was always on point until that night and despite Cena not being anywhere near the top echelon of in ring workers in the company Punk knew the blame laid squarely on his shoulders.

Mercifully the match had came to an end and Punk had never been so grateful. Cena was hot on his heels once they were backstage, the golden boy of the WWE immediately up in his face. 'What the fuck happened out there? What is wrong with you? You were fucking awful out there! You call yourself a champion?!'

Punk knew it was his fault, but his defenses came up whenever confronted. He never allowed anyone to talk to him in that manner, it was time for the old CM Punk to reemerge and prove he was still around with a scathing retort.

'Me? Awful out there? That's fucking rich coming from you! The guy that is so inept and has no ring psychology at all! Please, you've made a career out of being awful!'

With anger boiling over and agents along with Triple H swooping in to diffuse the intense confrontation Punk backed off slowly sending Cena a death glare before turning from him. He slung the title over his shoulder and walked away.

The moment the noise died down and people had disappeared from Punk's vision the snake emerged from the grass. He clasped a hand around Punk's wrist and guided him down the maze of hallways until they reached a door. They swept through it and out into the cool night air. They ventured further, past cables and crates and vehicles, before finally coming to a stop in between two huge production trucks a fair distance from the door in which they escaped the arena from.

The night sky cast them in darkness, yet Punk could see Randy's intense stare pinpointed right at him. Punk had his back to a production truck and as Randy stalked forward he felt as if he were trapped. But instead of blind panic that people would normally feel when trapped all Punk felt was passion trying to burst out of every pore. He wanted Randy's body close to his. To feel those tattooed arms wrap him up. To have Orton's lips on his in that demanding bruising kiss that was becoming so familiar. Orton brought out a dangerous need in Punk, and The Second City Saint's only cure was to allow the Viper to unleash his sexual prowess on his increasingly willing body.

Uncharacteristically though Orton wasn't advancing and taking charge. He wasn't moving on Punk at a speed so fast that Punk could barely register what was happening before he had already moved on to caress and kiss another part of his body. Instead he had slowly closed the gap between them and put his hands on Punk's hips. Thumbs ran in soothing circles over the bone, all the while toying with the waistband of Punk's blue trunks.

Punk couldn't quell his urges and his sexual desires. He threw caution to the wind. 'I need you, Randy.'

The snakes eyes sparkled and the hands that rested on Punk's hips slithered up his spine whilst he took Punk's breath away with a kiss. Punk was forced up harder against the production truck, but reciprocated the kiss as he clutched onto any part of Orton's body he could easily reach. The rippling muscles. The soft bronzed skin. The deep guttural growls. All of it turned Punk on. He didn't even attempt to fight it anymore. He didn't hate how his body reacted to Orton's sinful ministrations. No, now CM Punk embraced the shivers, the spine tingling touches, and the ferocious kisses. And he certainly didn't try an ward off his erection that was straining in his trunks eager for attention.

Randy ended the kiss, a smile on his face as he ran the back of his hand over the impressive bulge that Punk sported. He pounced soon after pulling the fabric down off Punk's slender hips freeing the confined flesh. No time was wasted as Randy took hold of the shaft and pumped his fist up and down, his thumb sweeping over the engorged head on every upstroke, smearing the beads of pre-cum to aid his movements.

At first contact he saw Punk's eyes flutter closed and teeth start to nibble on his bottom lip. Orton quickly got lost in the gorgeous faces that graced Punk's features. Breathy little moans escaped the WWE Champion over and over. Just seeing and hearing Punk's approval and enjoyment at his actions had Randy rock hard in his wrestling attire and the notion of being erect just because he had his hands on CM Punk's body set off alarms bells in his head.

He tried to push his arousal to the back of his mind as he rested his head on Punk's sweaty shoulder as he continued to work over the Straight Edge Superstars manhood. If alarm bells were triggered before then they sure as hell were soon after. Snake eyes snapped open as he felt his dick being pulled free from the suffocating fabric of his trunks and a skillful hand started to work him over at the same rate he worked over Punk. He stood upright from his leaning position and met eyes with Punk.

Wanton lust had overtaken Punk's body. His eyes were glazed over, the green more vibrant than ever before and Orton had a sneaky suspicion that his own eyes told a similar story.

Randy shook himself free of the growing enchantment that Punk brought out in him and took control. He snatched Punk's wrist pulling the champs hand from his body and smirked seductively as he sunk to his knees. As he hit the concrete Randy briefly wondered whether he had actually regained control or if the control had slipped even further from him and into a black hole. After all he was on his knees in front of CM Punk, the implication obvious. His twisted disturbed mind told him that this act would spin Punk further into addiction and send himself cruising ever closer to the WWE Championship and top dog status in the company.

Punk waited with bated breath, never in a million years did he believe he would see Randy Orton in such a position. Punk knew what was about to happen, he just couldn't quite comprehend it. Had he slipped into an alternate dimension? His gaze cast downward and his breath lodged in his throat as Randy finally took the head of his leaking dick into his mouth.

'Oh shit!' Punk gasped in sheer pleasure.

Randy learnt he had no aversion to the taste and feeling of Punk's dick in his mouth, in fact the taste was favourable, it made his own dick throb and a pearly bead of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. His arousal wouldn't wither, his erection still rigid. He took more of Punk into his mouth and gave up his internal struggle as he took hold of his cock and jerked himself off.

Punk's soft whimpers gradually got louder and increasingly hoarse, his eyes continually rolled into the back of his skull every time Orton ran his tongue all the way up the prominent vein of his dick. Punk could feel the pleasure escalating, his balls tight to his body as Orton worked him over with surprising skill and technique. Punk was sure Orton was a novice, in fact he was adamant this was the Apex Predators first time and in his lust addled brain he concluded Randy's work was impressive and belied the lack of experience he harnessed.

A bang was suddenly heard that knocked Punk back into the real world. His eyes snapped open and Punk's heartbeat raced as the door that Orton and he had escaped from earlier had just opened and he could hear faint footsteps. He knew any movement or sound and they would be rumbled. His shameful secret would be in the public domain. He could feel nausea rise up in his gut.

Orton however hadn't even reacted, he still slurped and sucked all over Punk's pulsating and saliva soaked cock enjoying the manhood between his lips. The feeling of Punk's trembling thigh beneath his palm brought light to the dark heart in his chest as he knew that he was inching closer to the title. For far too long he had been subjected to matches with lesser wrestlers and midcard bouts. But now the mountain top was in sight and that was exactly where Randy Orton belonged. And soon he would be back there.

Punk's ears pricked up, his whole body rigid with fear at being discovered, but thankfully he heard the heavy door open and slam shit and no one approached them. He assumed one of the techs or drivers had come outside for a cigarette, but there was no doubt about it they had just got lucky. He turned his head back to look down at Randy when something caught his eye. He was met with his own face staring right at him. Judging him. Mocking him.

There on the truck parallel to the one he was leant up against was his own face. WWE always seemed to adorn their production trucks with Superstars and Divas. Punk always thought it was lame, and now he hated them even more. Now he had to come face to face with himself. The CM Punk on the truck was looking down on him ashamed of what he had become. At what he had been reduced to. He was now so strung out and insatiable that he was getting his sexual needs from Randy Orton right after Raw. I mean Randy Orton of all people? Not even waiting to get back to the privacy of a hotel room?

The CM Punk on the truck reminded him that this wasn't who he truly was. The CM Punk of old was strong. He was stubborn. He would never back down or give up. He was straight edge. Punk was metaphorically looking at the man in the mirror, and he didn't like what he saw. The man he was now Punk was horrified by. He had lost his way. He had made a wrong disastrous turn somewhere down the road. Punk felt knots in his stomach, he needed to stop this. He needed to cut Orton from his life. He needed to revolt against this addiction.

Then the whole world came to a screeching halt. Without warning a finger brushed over his opening, and his breath turned ragged. Any thought of fighting back against his addiction got lost in a fog as his mind was submerged into murky waters. And there it was again another unmistakable brush over his asshole. The digit sweeping over his hole, gently pushing caressing yet nothing more was tempting. It was teasing. It was exciting. It was arousing as fuck!

The Second City Saint had been adamant before with Randy that nothing of that nature would ever occur, but as Orton's hot wet mouth engulfed his cock and his finger tapped against his pucker once more he found himself not giving a damn and even pushed back against the finger ever so slightly.

Randy had seen the conflict troubling Punk and he had acted swiftly. He knew he was losing his hold over Punk, he wasn't sure what had been the catalyst, but he knew he couldn't let it all fall apart now. He had come too far to lose it all. I mean for fuck sake he was giving CM Punk a blowjob, he had made sacrifices in this war, losing was not an option. He took a huge gamble, he could've pushed Punk all the way back to sobriety, especially after Punk's declaration last time he had tried to push Punk along further. He was fully aware of how headstrong CM Punk was, it was a miracle he had managed to get this far. But it actually seemed his risk had paid off. Thankfully Punk was ever so lightly pushing against the tip of his finger, all the while still pumping his hips gently to feel more of Randy's slick moist mouth over his dick.

Punk couldn't take much more teasing, every touch against his hole was tantalising. As Orton's finger toyed with his asshole again and then abruptly left and fondled Punk's balls Punk found himself losing complete control and snapping. He needed to know what it was all about, what he was missing and he unashamedly begged for more. 'Will you please just fucking do it!'

If he could've Randy would've smirked the biggest smirk the world had ever seen, but his mouth was busy sucking the fluid oozing from the tip of Punk's throbbing dick. Randy didn't need to be told twice and he instantly pushed at Punk's opening with his finger again. Punk bit on his lip as he felt the thick digit pressing with more force and finally breach the right ring of muscle and sink further into his body. It felt so foreign, yet no at all unwelcome. He felt the finger start to slide in and out a few times, the initial burning sensation vanishing as he felt his hole accommodate the invading finger. Then on the next entry the finger curled and hit something that made his toes curl, every muscle in his body tense, his ass clenched and his voice cried Randy's name into the night air.

Randy repeated the action again and again with smug satisfaction all over his face and the reaction from Punk was even more vocal. Randy nailed Punk's prostate on every plunge back inside the soft warm velvet heat and Randy took notice of how deliciously tight Punk's ass was around his finger. The thought of plunging his cock inside that tight channel made goose bumps rise on his skin and his dick twitch uncontrollably between his thick thighs.

Punk was becoming unglued, his fingers scratching and clawing at Orton's shoulders and scalp. Resistance was futile. Hell resistance was fools game. How did he live without feeling that bolt of electricity before now? How could he miss out on that? It was unbelievable. It was the greatest hit of a lifetime. There was no fix that was this damn satisfying.

Orton stabbed his spot again and his whole body shook and convulsed, a moan escaped from deep within. Orton hit his prostate with pinpoint accuracy again and again whilst simultaneously sucking on his dick and his orgasm couldn't be stopped. He grunted as he released, hot thick creamy bursts of cum flowed and to Punk's surprise he noted Orton didn't pull away. The Viper took all he had to give.

Randy hummed around Punk's spent dick as he relished the taste of Punk's essence once again being on his tongue. He had wanted that ever since that night when he first tasted the Second City Saint, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, including himself.

Punk's vision was made up of bright luminous colours, his head lolled from side to side absolutely exhausted. He finally managed to make out Orton on his knees through the haze, Randy's tongue was licking him from base to tip tasting all he could acquire as he retained his actions on his own stiff penis. Punk's legs were dead, reeling from the euphoria and the tiring match he had participated in beforehand. They gave way and he sunk to the ground his bare ass hitting the concrete.

Randy was now face to face with him and as soon as they locked eyes Orton dived in for a heated kiss and Punk could taste himself on Orton's tongue. Randy moaned into Punk's mouth, he was so close. In a rush of movements Orton was back on his feet, his legs on either side of Punk's body and his thick long dick hovered inches from Punk's mouth.

'I'm close.' Randy croaked as he peered down at Punk.

Punk's mouth ran dry as he stared up at Randy and then back to the throbbing erection. He could smell the heavy scent of sweat and sex in the air. The hits just kept coming as his head swam in ecstasy. He leant forward and opened his mouth wanting to taste Orton badly. Randy guided his impressive dick inside and Punk's lips closed around the thick shaft and he sucked on the bulbous head as Randy toppled over the edge and erupted down his throat. Punk swallowed around the length swallowing all of Orton's cum as he hung onto Orton's muscled thighs. The WWE Champion licked at Orton's dick collecting the remnants of cum before resting back against the truck gasping for air to appease his lungs.

Randy tucked his softening cock back inside his trunks and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then the moonlight caught the golden title and it glimmered and shone into the snakes vision. The title was on the ground, dropped from Punk's hold the minute Randy hands touched his body. Randy bent down and retrieved the prestigious title belt. He held it in his hands, it had been far too long. He ran his palm over the golden WWE sign. His fingers traced the name plate; _**CM Punk. **_

A twisted grin appeared. Soon it will be replaced with a name that epitomises talent and legendary status; _**Randy Orton.**_

Time was counting down. Time was running out for CM Punk. Randy Orton's ascension was imminent. Randy knew it. He could feel it. It was so close now. He had made sure of it that very night. He had CM Punk exactly where he wanted him. And soon he would give Punk that final fatal blow.

'Here you go. Champ.' Randy held the belt out and Punk took it, completely oblivious to the Vipers intentions from the beginning. He was unaware of the plotting. Unaware of the significance of what had just transpired between the two of them.

All CM Punk had on his mind was where and when Randy Orton would grant him his next glorious fix. It couldn't come soon enough...But his enabler knew that the next fix would be the one to cause CM Punk's overdose!

...

* * *

**Punk keeps on getting deeper and deeper in trouble. Now he's even pushing Kofi away! Randy's arrogance is at an all time high, he thinks he has Punk exactly where he wants him. Maybe he does? Maybe he doesn't? Do you think Punk's addiction is too strong now to refuse Randy's advances? **

**I hope you enjoyed reading :)**


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